I paused a moment to let him hope the lie had imposed upon me; and then pointed to the bell. “If that bell is rung it will bring my men here with the means you may have heard we use to make prisoners speak the truth. Go and ring it now—or tell me the truth of your own accord.”
It was a touch of refined cruelty eloquent of Russian methods to make him summon his own torturers; and it did much to carry conviction now.
“I don’t wish to deceive your Excellency,” he murmured.
“Is that why you want me to believe that when a man owes you money he comes in the dead of night to pay it after waiting for your signals from the house—the light three times flashed. You lying cur. Ring that bell—I have no more time to waste.”
“You won’t torture me?” he cried, in anguish.
“Ring that bell,” I thundered. “It pleases me for you yourself to call your torturers;” and I laughed, as if the grim joke were really to my taste.
Down he went on his knees. “Not the torture, Excellency. Not the torture. For God’s sake, not that.”
“You’ve had a taste of it before, eh?” I said, with another grin, feeling an awful beast as I did it. “You can choose—the torture or the truth of your own will.”
“My God!” he exclaimed, covering his white face and writhing; and then the truth came slowly and with labour, as he thought how little he dared to tell and yet save his skin. “It was for my mistress’s sake—the Princess. We were all afraid in the house because we are so weak. I had arranged to let some soldiers in to protect us all.”
“You must do better than that, dog. Try again,” I sneered, coarsely. “Men don’t pay you to come and protect you. You’ll have to lie better than that to convince me.” Then I changed the sneer to a tone of anger. “I’ll have no more of this; the truth, or—” and I laid my hand on the bell.