ON THE TORTURE RACK
THE eyes of Foy opened. They were wide, and they gleamed in the light of the lantern — gleamed as Ling Soo had never seen them gleam before.
An instant later, that flash was gone. The yellow lids were half closed, in the manner of Foy.
Before him, The Shadow saw the merciless form of Ling Soo. Then The Shadow looked upward, and his half-closed eyes took in the strange surroundings. His keen brain, usually alert, was working slowly for the moment.
The strain upon the wrists was great. The Shadow, brought to full wakefulness by pain, began to sense the hopelessness of his predicament. In this terrible position, escape belonged to the realm of impossibility.
Ling Soo’s cackling laugh echoed in the gloomy compartment. The master of the Wu-Fan was gloating. He spoke to his false henchman, Foy, and his words were filled with sinister significance.
“Why did you betray?” This question was in Chinese. “Tell me why — or you shall know the torture.”
The hanging man did not reply.
“Your misery will be long,” declared Ling Soo solemnly. “Speak! Tell the truth of your perfidy. Then only shall the torture end.”
The sullen lips of Foy did not move.