The Russian's question was a growled retort.
"Yes!" Cliff's voice quavered. "Let me loose— I'll— I'll—" His choking voice could say no more. The strain of the maddening, limb-wrenching winches was too great for him to stand.
Cliff's head toppled forward on his chest.
Orlinov gave two commands. Both were the same. One was in Russian, and the other in English. Slowly, the winches were released. Cliff's arms dropped. The ropes became slack. He crumpled to the floor and lay there, inert.
Ivan Orlinov stared long at the man whom he had tortured. It was apparent that Cliff Marsland had held out until complete anguish forced him to yield. He had lost his senses now.
Orlinov was sorry. It might be some time before the man would speak.
Cliff had indeed suffered; but not so much as Orlinov supposed. All through the torture, he had played a part. He had winced without an outcry, feigning pain so effectively that Orlinov had imagined his anguish far greater than it actually was.
Now, too, Cliff was playing a part. He had tried to delay this torture until he felt that it was bringing injury from which he could not easily recover. The wrenching had reached that state. Then, Cliff had uttered his pleading cry.
On the floor, he resembled a man who had lost consciousness. Orlinov leaned over him and shook his body roughly. Cliff made no response. The Russian was convinced that his victim was senseless Orlinov became thoughtful. This torture had taken some time. It was late in the evening, now. By this time, Doctor Gerald Savette would be here. Both he and Tremont would want to see the victim; to hear Cliff Marsland speak.
The Russian knew his game. He had learned that the combined remembrance of past torture, coupled with the threat of future, was a weapon that could force the most hardened man to speak. In addition, present ease — as a pleasant lapse between two racking sessions — was also a way to make obdurate persons reasonable.