“Perhaps for the present, it will,” he said slowly. “But to-morrow—to-morrow, Captain Drummond, you shall scream to Heaven for mercy, until I take out your tongue and you can scream no more.” He turned as the German came into the room. “I leave them to you, Heinrich,” he remarked shortly. “Use the dog-whip if they shout, and gag them.”
The German’s eyes were fixed on Hugh gloatingly.
“They will not shout twice,” he said in his guttural voice. “The dirty Boche to it himself will see.”
II
“We appear,” remarked Hugh quietly, a few minutes later, “to be in for a cheery night.”
For a moment the German had left the room, and the three motionless, bound figures, sitting grotesquely in their chairs, were alone.
“How did they get you, Toby?”
“Half a dozen of ’em suddenly appeared,” answered Sinclair shortly, “knocked me on the head, and the next thing I knew I was here in this damned chair.”
“Is that when you got your face?” asked Hugh.
“No,” said Toby, and his voice was grim. “We share in the matter of faces, old man.”