An electric shock suddenly speared him. His nerves seemed to curl up, and for a second his mind was thoroughly disorganized before it again took up the drone about Iapetus. Recovery ... dullness ... a kind of peace—and again the shock leaped through him. It was followed by a question from afar off:
"Where is Eliot Leithgow?"
Somehow the question meant a great deal and should not be answered....
Again the stab of agony. Again the voice:
"Where is Eliot Leithgow?"
Again the shock, and again the voice. Alternating, over and over. He could brace himself against the shock, but the voice could in no way be avoided. It was everywhere about him, over, around, under him; he began to see it. Desperately he forced his brain on the path it must not leave. He had forgotten years ago why, but knew there must be some good reason.
"Iapetus, Iapetus—I have a ranch there—Iapetus, Iapetus—Where is Eliot Leithgow?—Iapetus, Iapetus—I have a ranch there—Where is Eliot Leithgow—I have a ranch there—a ranch there—Iapetus, a ranch—Where is Eliot Leithgow?—Where is Eliot Leithgow?—Where is Eliot Leithgow?" ...
After two hours and ten minutes the Hawk crumpled.
He was quite delirious at the time. The combined effect of the pain, the physical and nervous exhaustion of the shocks and light, the endlessly repeated question, his own close concentration on his Iapetus ranch—these were too much for any human body to stand against. He lost his grip on his mind, lost the fine control that had never been lost before, the control about which he was so vain. And the lump of flesh that was Hawk Carse gave the information that was tearing wildly at its prison.