us secret, but Chauvelin fortunately was
quick enough to seize his wrist.

"Have a care, citizen," he said peremptorily; "have a care! You called
me a fool just now when you thought I had killed the prisoner. It is his
secret we want first; his death can follow afterwards."

"Yes, but not in this d--d hole," murmured Blakeney.

"On the guillotine if you'll speak," cried Heron, whose exasperation was
getting the better of his self-interest, "but if you'll not speak then
it shall be starvation in this hole--yes, starvation," he growled,
showing a row of large and uneven teeth like those of some mongrel cur,
"for I'll have that door walled in to-night, and not another living soul
shall cross this threshold again until your flesh has rotted on your
bones and the rats have had their fill of you."

The prisoner raised his head slowly, a shiver shook him as if caused by
ague, and his eyes, that appeared almost sightless, now looked with a
strange glance of horror on his enemy.

"I'll die in the open," he whispered, "not in this d--d hole."

"Then tell us where Capet is."

"I cannot; I wish to God I could. But I'll take you to him, I swear I
will. I'll make my friends give him up to you. Do you think that I would
not tell you now, if I could."

Heron, whose every instinct of tyranny revolted against this thwarting
of his will, would have continued to heckle the prisoner even now, had
not Chauvelin suddenly interposed with an authoritative gesture.

"You'll gain nothing this way, citizen," he said quietly; "the man's
mind is wandering; he is probably quite unable to give you clear
directions at this moment."

"What am I to do, then?" muttered the other roughly.

"He cannot live another twenty-four hours now, and would only grow more
and more helpless as time went on."

"Unless you relax your strict regime with him."

"And if I do we'll only prolong this situation indefinitely; and in the
meanwhile how do we know that the brat is not being spirited away out of
the country?"

The prisoner, with his head once more buried in his arms, had fallen
into a kind of torpor, the only kind of sleep that the exhausted system
would allow. With a brutal gesture Heron shook him by the shoulder.

"He," he shouted, "none of that, you know. We have not settled the
matter of young Capet yet."

Then, as the prisoner made no movement, and the chief agent indulged
in one of his favourite volleys of oaths, Chauvelin placed a perempto