"And you?" he cried. "You are taking him seriously? You are going to give him this money?"
Miller's out-turned palms expressed a vague pessimism.
"Is there an alternative?" he asked.
Aylmer laughed harshly.
"Blank refusal: what is his answer to that?"
The dark eyes searched the two expectant faces meditatively. The thin prehensile fingers picked at a loose splinter in the bulkhead.
"I think he would find a way," he said slowly. "I think—in fact he has threatened it—he would—hurt you!"
Aylmer stared at the gray figure, puzzled, frowning. Miller had used a new voice for the two last syllables, a voice that shook ever so slightly with some concealed emotion. "Hurt you," he reiterated sharply, and then darted a quick, bird-like glance at Aylmer—a look full of interrogation.
Claire Van Arlen moved forward with a sudden startled movement.
"Hurt!" she cried. "You mean that he would use torture?"