Methodically, Petri strode toward the other side of the room, and turned a second winch.
Cliff's left arm was hoisted forcibly. He stood spread-eagled in the clutches of the locking bands, while Orlinov's black face remained motionless. At length, the bearded Russian spoke.
"You see?" he questioned. "We haff placed you where you can tell. This iss how it hass been done in Siberia — many years ago. People have found it wise to speak when the torture hass been close to them." He motioned the gangster to the other winch. With Petri at one side, and the gunman at the other, both winches could be operated simultaneously.
"I haff given you the chance!" hissed Orlinov "Speak! Tell me: Who iss The Shadow? What haff you known about him? Speak!"
Cliff remained obdurate. Orlinov signaled his men. They turned the winches. Cliff felt a terrific agony as his limbs began to draw from his body. A gesture from the bearded Russian stopped the barbarous torture.
"You haff tasted what iss to follow," said Orlinov. "You shall haff more — unless you speak—" Cliff's answer was a furious scowl. He was determined to withstand this barbarity.
Orlinov watched him. Red lips leered through the jet-black beard. A sign from Orlinov, and the winches turned farther. As the strain ceased a second time, Cliff's maddened brain began to formulate a plan. He was willing to bear the agony until it killed him; but that seemed a futile plan.
His duty tonight was to serve The Shadow. Crippled and helpless, he would be of no use.
It was a long time until midnight. His endurance had not yet been fully taxed. Let them turn the winches farther; then he would offer to speak.
He could tell Orlinov of The Shadow — for Cliff's information would at best be barren.