"You see, Mayer," he observed, grimly, "my purpose. The wife sees the husband's suffering. If he refuses to speak, she will speak. One or the other will tell us what we want to know, of that you may be sure. Let us leave them to talk matters over." He and his man at once left the room, and in a few moments Grace heard their footsteps upon the floor of the laboratory above.
"Richard," she cried, softly, "are you suffering very much?"
"Never mind, dear," he said, trying vainly to turn his head so that he might see her. "What has happened—why have they brought you here?"
She told him her story, brokenly, with many sobs. "I could not help it, Richard," she moaned. "I did my best. I could not help their finding out everything."
"I know it, dear. You have done all you could. Is there any news from outside?"
"None. They told me to play the phonograph to send you a message. Did you hear it?"
"Yes, I heard, and understood."
"Understood? Then you know something—you have some hope?"
"I do not know. It may be, although I cannot see what to do now. I dare not tell you more than that—these scoundrels are undoubtedly listening in the room above."
"Richard, what is that light? What is it they mean to do to you? Dr. Hartmann showed me his hand—it was all scarred and burned. He said it came from that." She looked toward the glowing cone of light with bitter anger.