"They're nightmares, both of 'em," broke in Jack. "Now, Juliet, don't be scared. That's all rot about Pat being done away with. Nick and I are going to save time by making these—these skunks—tell us where he is. But we've a minute or so to spare. They've kept Pat safe, I bet, for the sake of the ransom they meant to get out of you. There's a third-degree stunt going on in your house. Sanders is grilling Defasquelle and Simone. It all comes back to this building that's like the web of a black spider—the Inner Circle—and we'll repeat that third-degree stunt here. Who's this man you call a wretch?"
"His name's Piggott," Juliet panted. "He—was editor of a hateful paper in London—Modern Ways—almost as vile as the Inner Circle. Emmy West introduced me to him. She said he wasn't bad really—if I'd meet him he'd put nice things in his paper instead of horrors—especially about Pat. I said 'Yes' for Pat's sake—Emmy insisted so. He came to Harridge's, where I was staying, but before he or I had time to speak, Pat was shown in. He gave one look, and begged me to go out—to leave this man to him. I had never seen Pat like that—and I went. I never even heard the wretch's voice or I'd have recognized it, I think. He came here and talked to me three days ago—with this mask on. Now Bill Lowndes comes with him. I don't know yet how or why he should be mixed up——"
"I do," said Jack. "It's because they're both concerned with the Inner Circle, on the floor below. They've had Simone in their pay, selling them news, and as for the pearls——"
"Oh! if you'll let my husband go, I'll tell you everything!" wailed Madame Veno; stumbling up from the floor. "That's my husband, Sam Piggott. He's got nothing to do with the Inner Circle, except a little interest he's bought, because the owner is my step-brother. I'm English, and Sam's Irish, and our being in this business is an accident. It was all the Duke's fault and Markoff's fault——"
"Shut your mouth," grunted the big man whom Old Nick held—a man few others could have held at all.
"Shut yours—that's more to the point!" said Nickson. Apparently he meant the pistol's point. And Piggott was silenced.
"Will you let him go if I tell you things?" repeated the woman, shuddering at Nick's gesture.
"That depends on how much you can tell," decided Jack, coolly.
"I can tell everything," she moaned.
"Begin by telling where the Duke is."