Carlton frowned. “Give him the full strength,” he said, curtly.
The full strength was applied, and Laurie’s body stiffened convulsively under its force. To Elliott it seemed that the torture lasted for hours, listening to the vicious buzz of the coil and watching the writhing, white-clad form lashed in the long chair. He struggled in vain to get loose; he shut his eyes, but he could hear the creaking of the strap as Laurie’s body strained against it; and at last he heard the missionary utter a stifled, choking sob—“Ah—ah—ah!”
The noise of the instrument ceased. “Now will you be sensible?” Carlton inquired.
“Yes! yes! No more, for God’s sake!” Laurie moaned, and began to cry with profuse tears.
“Here, have a drink,” said Sevier.
He held a full glass to the old man’s lips, and he drank half a pint of whiskey and water eagerly.
“Where is it, then? What’s the latitude and longitude?” Carlton insisted, eagerly. But Laurie had sunk back and closed his eyes.
“Give him time. He’s worn out with your devilish machine. Cut him loose if you want him to talk,” advised Elliott from the floor.
“Hello, I’d forgotten you, old man,” said Sevier. “Keep cool. It’s all over, and we’ll turn you loose, too, in a minute.”
He took Elliott’s advice, however, and removed the strap. Then he stirred the missionary gently, without effect.