“Is all ready?” asked Roquefort.
The men grunted an assent.
He looked at me again, and read something in my eyes I would not have had him see there.
“I think we shall yet learn the name of the spy,” he sneered. “I think we shall soon have this scoundrel’s soul bare before us! Turn the wheel, men!”
CHAPTER XI
ROQUEFORT’S PRICE
I heard the wheel creak round, and a sudden spasm of pain shot through elbows, shoulders, and hips as the ropes tightened. I set my teeth to stifle back the cry I knew the next turn must wring from me, and glanced up at Roquefort leering down at me. Thank God, I had settled accounts with that other devil! He, at least, was not there to gloat over my agony! This one I must leave to M. le Comte.
“Well, M. de Marsan,” he drawled, “are you yet ready to tell me the name of the spy? Think well before you answer. Your present position is not an easy one, perhaps, but it is a bed of roses compared to what it will be when that wheel has been turned twice more.”
I bit my lips to keep back the curses that rose to them.
“Come, you are obdurate,” said Roquefort after a moment. “Briquet, explain to him the effect of turning the wheel twice more.”
“The first turn will dislocate the shoulders,” said Briquet in a tone of professional indifference. “The second turn will dislocate the hips.”