“Get up, Crispin,” Sydney said. “I’ve had to wait a long time to get even with you. We have you now where we want you.”
Slowly Crispin rose to his feet; even then he couldn’t find his voice.
“I’ve brought a whip,” Cora said, polite as a tailor at a fitting. She pulled the whip from her trouser leg and laid it on the table.
“We’ll start with that,” Sydney said.
Cora zipped open her bag casually and took out the Luger.
A faint click sounded through the room. It was immediately lost in a clap of thunder.
“Here, George,” she said, and pushed the gun into his hand.
George looked at Crispin. Crispin looked at him and then at the gun. His face seemed to fall to pieces. He began to back slowly away.
Oddly enough, the heavy Luger felt good in George’s hands. He felt extraordinarily elated to see the terror in Crispin’s face.
Crispin, white, his mouth working, backed against the wall. He looked lonely.