"Ha, Nash is with us again," said Hilyer's voice. "I was afraid you might have done him in, Toutou."
"If you take my advice,"—I recognized Hilmi Bey's falsetto tones—"you will have Toutou operate on all three of them. He has ways to make silent men speak. Do you remember Rattner, the Swiss broker, Toutou?"
Toutou's answer was an almost indistinguishable "guhr-rrrr-rrr-rr" of rage.
Alive now to the position I was in, I opened my eyes wider and tried to rise. But I was bound hand and foot, and could not move. I could, however, see where I was. Not far away Hugh and Nikka were propped against the stone wall of a chamber, which I suppose you could call a dungeon. It had no window. The one door was open. The floor sloped gradually toward the center, where there was a square stone grating about two feet square.
But the most interesting aspect of my surroundings was the group in the doorway. Toutou stood in front, his green eyes sparkling with hate and lust. Hilmi Bey fawned at his elbow. Serge Yassilievich and Hilyer were there. Tokalji frowned at us, hand on his knife-hilt, Hélène de Cespedes and Sandra Vassilievna, in their modish costumes, looked singularly out of place. They lent a touch of unreality to what was otherwise a singularly brutish picture. As I looked, Hélène stepped forward.
"Help Mr. Nash to sit up, Montey," she said.
He looked from her to Toutou.
"Oh, it won't prevent his answering questions," she snapped. "Please do as I say."
He raised me not ungently to a sitting position. Hugh and Nikka grinned at me.
"The question before the house," said Hugh, "is what route to Hades we are to take, and the preliminary stages of discomfort we shall undergo to satisfy the head devil over there and his assistants."