‘Is it this?’ said Jimmy, bringing over a small, portable iron vice, from among the tools by the furnace.
‘That’s right,’ said Blodget. ‘Now, lads, hold him fast.’ Monteagle was suddenly prostrated upon the damp floor, and firmly held there by the ruffians, although he put forth lion-like strength in his struggles to shake off his enemies. ‘Now, then, we’ll try his nerves,’ said Blodget, and immediately proceeded to adjust the vice on one of Monteagle’s thumbs. ‘Will you tell where the money can be found?’ said Blodget.
Monteagle made no reply.
Blodget gave the vice a couple of turns but Monteagle gave no signs of feeling except an involuntary shudder and a heavy sigh.
Again his heartless tormentor gave the vice a turn. Still the brave youth remained silent, although the pain was fearful, and he could feel the hot blood gushing from under his nail.
‘Knock out the stubborn divil’s brains,’ cried Jimmy, waxing impatient at the delay.
‘Keep cool, Jimmy,’ said Blodget. ‘It is money we want, not brains.’
Another turn of the vice—but Monteagle, save by a low, involuntary groan, gave no token of the agony he suffered.
‘Curse the fellow, it’s as hard to extract gold from him as to crush it out of quartz rocks. He’s so devilish stubborn, I see he will die, as he says, before he’ll tell where the gold is placed. Now, boys, what’s to be done?’ continued Blodget, looking around inquiringly into the villainous faces of his companions.
They were all silent, for some seconds. At length the man that we have described as being employed over the furnace, broke silence, saying, ‘Let me manage him, and I’ll promise to make him tell, not only where we may find this gold, but reveal far weightier secrets, if such he knows.’