It was circular, like a huge cistern, and deep. A curved wall of masonry arose on all sides. Midway between floor and ceiling and far above his reach were two long, narrow, deep windows. The diameter of the cylindrical room was twenty-five or thirty feet.
“A regular donjon, or dungeon, of a mediaeval castle,” Phil said to himself. He almost uttered the words aloud, just to satisfy his curiosity as to how his voice would sound, but a dread of the awe-thrill that would probably follow controlled the impulse.
“I’m going to do my best to go to sleep,” he resolved. “Goodness knows, I need it bad enough, and maybe this place won’t seem so dreadful in the morning. I wonder if they’ll give me anything to eat then, or if starvation is a concomitant of that villain’s sweating machinery. Concomitant is a good word under the circumstances, I guess. It ought to go well with a donjon of a castle keep. Just to think! the position ’u’d be reversed and I’d have that monster of big circumference in limbo behind the Marine lines at Chateau Thierry if that tall slim piece of a wall hadn’t toppled over on top o’ me. But instead of his being under guard at Chateau Thierry, I’m in a cellar tomb in Chateau—Chateau—what’ll I call it? Oh, yes, I’ll call it Chateau Boaconstrictor, or the Castle of the Human Snake.”
His dread of what the near future might have in store for him being thus mollified somewhat by his damp-dungeon serpentine wit, Phil dozed several minutes over the grewsome idea and then fell hungrily asleep.
CHAPTER XL
A ROOM OF TORTURE
Phil was awakened in the morning by the creaking of his prison door, and opened his eyes to behold the jailer of his midnight imprisonment advancing toward him. He observed now, as he had not noticed when he first saw him, that this fellow wore a military uniform.
With a few words in German and expressive movements of his hands, the jailer indicated to the boy an order to come with him, and the prisoner obeyed. Up the stairs they went and into a very strange room occupied by that very strange man, “Count Topoff.” Strewn about in the apartment were a dozen or more remarkable contrivances, a few of which indicated the probable general character of all of them. One was plainly a pillory with holes for the head and the hands, but within the hand holes projected many sharp metal points, while on the stand for the undoubtedly barefooted pilloried victim were a hundred or more sharp metal points projecting upwards. There were also hanging on the wall numerous straps and belts, some of them crossed and riveted here and there until they bore the appearance of elaborate body-brace or harness, while from various ends hung numerous sharp-toothed jaw-clasps. Overhead, suspended on a pulley by a long rope, was what appeared to be a head harness. The other end of the rope was caught around a cleat over against the wall.
Phil shuddered at the sight. Here was cruelty apparatus of the most fiendish ingenuity. And there could be no doubt that it was intended to be used and that “Count Topoff” was the very fellow to use it with frigid glee.
The prisoner was aroused from his secretly shrinking contemplation of the prospect before him by the voice of “the count,” who addressed him in English, thus:
“You see, most foolish American, what is in store for you unless you give me a true explanation of what took place this side of Chateau Thierry. Now, I’ll give you one more chance before the course of persuasion begins. By telling me the truth, you can escape all that you see before you.”