two of the friends of Mr. FitzHerbert are, Mr.
Bassett and Mr. Fenton. The names--"

"Bah!" (The word sounded like the explosion of a gun.)

"You are playing with us--"

"The names," murmured the priest slowly, "of two of Mr. Fenton's friends
are Mr. FitzHerbert and--"

A face, upside-down, thrust itself suddenly almost into his. He could
feel the hot breath on his forehead.

"See here, Mr. Alban. You are fooling us. Do you think this is a
Christmas game? I tell you it is not yet three o'clock. There are three
hours more yet--"

A smooth, sad voice interrupted. (The reversed face vanished.)

"You have threatened the prisoner," it said, "but you have not yet told
him the alternative."

"No, my lord.... Yes, my lord. Listen, Mr. Alban. My lord here says that
if you will answer these questions he will use his influence on your
behalf. Your life is forfeited, as you know very well. There is not a
dog's chance for you. Yet, if you will but answer these three
questions--and no more--(No more, my lord?)--Yes; these three questions
and no more, my lord will use his influence for you. He can promise
nothing, he says, but that; but my lord's influence--well, we need say
no more on that point. If you refuse to answer, on the other hand, there
are yet three hours more to-day; there is all to-morrow, and the next
day. And, after that, your case will be before my lords at the Assizes.
You have had but a taste of what we can do.... And then, sir, my lord
does not wish to be harsh...."

There was a pause.

Robin was counting up the hours. It was three o'clock now. Then he had
been on the rack, with intervals, since nine o'clock. That was six
hours. There was but half that again for to-day. Then would come the
night. He need not consider further than that.... But he must guard his
tongue. It might speak, in spite---

"Well, Mr. Alban?"

He opened his eyes.

"Well, sir?"

"Which is it to be?"

The priest smiled and closed his eyes again. If he could but fix his
attention on the mere pain, he thought, and refuse utterly to consider
the way of escape, he might be able to keep his unruly tongue in check.

"You will not, then?"

"No."

* * * * *

The appalling pain ran through him again like fiery snakes of iron--from
wrist to shoulders, from ankles to thighs, as the hands seized him and
lifted him....

There was a moment or two of relief as he sank down once more into the
trough o