“Yes, and poor Anson will distil pearly tears from those beautiful eyes of his, and we shall not be there to see them rolling down his fat cheeks. West, lad, I never yet wanted to kill a man.”
“Of course not, and you don’t now!”
“That’s quite correct, lad; but I should like to be a grand inquisitor sitting on Master Anson for his renegade ways and superintending in the torture-chamber. My word, shouldn’t he have the question of the water; no, the rack; or better still, the extraction of his nails. Stop a minute: I think hanging from the ceiling by his wrists with a weight attached to his ankles, and a grand finish-off with the question of fire would be more fitting. Bless him for a walking tallow sausage, wouldn’t he burn!”
“Ugh! Don’t be such a savage!” cried West angrily. “You wouldn’t do anything of the kind. I should be far more hard-hearted and cruel than you’d be, for I would have him tied up to the wheel of a wagon and set a Kaffir to flog him with a sjambok on his bare back.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Ingleborough sharply.
“What’s the matter?”
“And I’ve come away without having the oily rascal stripped of his plunder.”
“What! His diamonds?”
“Yes. I know he has a regular pile hidden in that wagon of his, and, what’s more, I know where to look and find them.”
“Where?”