The eyes expressed a wolfish satisfaction. Strong hands gripped Wimsey's arms.
"One moment—for God's sake let me die decently."
"You should have thought this over earlier. Take him away. Ladies and gentlemen, be satisfied—he will not die quickly."
"Stop! Wait!" cried Wimsey desperately. "I have something to say. I don't ask for life—only for a quick death. I—I have something to sell."
"To sell?"
"Yes."
"We make no bargains with traitors."
"No—but listen! Do you think I have not thought of this? I am not so mad. I have left a letter."
"Ah! now it is coming. A letter. To whom?"
"To the police. If I do not return to-morrow——"