“Listen, murderess,” he said, and Ilam shuddered at that word: “if you do not answer my questions I will kill your son before your eyes. Does Ilam know where the photograph is?”
Once again the old woman obstinately shut her eyes and refused to give any indication.
Ilam, who seemed mentally to be quickly regaining his normal state, stood up and moved to the fireplace.
“Stand!” said Jetsam angrily, and he drew his revolver from his pocket. “I will know where that photograph is or I will hang for you. I shall not be the first man who has died in a good cause. Now, where is that photograph? Did you or your mother take it out of the box?”
He lifted the revolver.
“I took it out of the box,” snarled Ilam—“I—I—I—and my mother knew nothing.”
“And where is it?” asked Jetsam, smiling triumphantly.
“It is here,” Ilam cried, and he took a faded photograph from his breast pocket. “You never thought of searching me, eh? Ass!”
“Give it me,” said Jetsam quietly.
“No,” said Ilam; and with a sudden movement he stuck it in the fire.