“I will shout this infamy broadcast,” cried Dorothy, wild-eyed and gasping.
“Bah!” exclaimed Lord Ashley with sarcasm, “your utterances will be known merely as the wild ravings of an infatuated woman! What will they weigh against official declarations and the military reports as to the escape and what followed? Such utterances will simply bring notoriety and discredit upon you.”
“Have you no mercy?”
“None,” he answered inflexibly. “Hear me now for the last time. That instrument against the wall yonder is a sigmagraph. A touch of its electric button causes a flash of light to appear upon the reflector above it, which is transmitted to the receiver upon the roof of the military quarters. In just eight and one-half minutes, sixteen o’clock will sound. If, before the last stroke dies away, three flashes of light are cast from that reflector, mercy will have prevailed and the traitor will be permitted to make good his escape. If no such signal be given he dies.”
“This is horrible—horrible!” repeated Dorothy, aghast “You will surely show mercy and not hold back that signal!”
“Only upon one condition.”
“And that is?” cried Dorothy desperately.
“I am but human,” said Lord Ashley, speaking rapidly, “and to purchase my happiness I will forego meting out strict justice. In the palace chapel, at this very moment, is the royal chaplain. At a command from me he can be in this room within two minutes; within two more the words can be spoken which will constitute a binding ceremony. The brilliant public ceremony can come later. Speak but the word. I will summon the chaplain and—this man lives. His fate is in your hands!”
“No, no!” protested Dorothy, “I cannot—cannot!”
“Then he dies!”