CHAPTER XXXVI. SUBMISSION
Silence reigned in the narrow cell for a few moments, whilst two human jackals stood motionless over their captured prey.
A savage triumph gleamed in Chauvelin’s eyes, and even Heron, dull and brutal though he was, had become vaguely conscious of the great change that had come over the prisoner.
Blakeney, with a gesture and a sigh of hopeless exhaustion had once more rested both his elbows on the table; his head fell heavy and almost lifeless downward in his arms.
“Curse you, man!” cried Heron almost involuntarily. “Why in the name of hell did you wait so long?”
Then, as the prisoner made no reply, but only raised his head slightly, and looked on the other two men with dulled, wearied eyes, Chauvelin interposed calmly:
“More than a fortnight has been wasted in useless obstinacy, Sir Percy. Fortunately it is not too late.”
“Capet?” said Heron hoarsely, “tell us, where is Capet?”
He leaned across the table, his eyes were bloodshot with the keenness of his excitement, his voice shook with the passionate desire for the crowning triumph.
“If you’ll only not worry me,” murmured the prisoner; and the whisper came so laboriously and so low that both men were forced to bend their ears close to the scarcely moving lips; “if you will let me sleep and rest, and leave me in peace—”