Once, for a moment, the footsteps paused, and their hearts gave a great bound of thankfulness. The messenger, then, was not coming for them after all!
Their sensation of relief, however, was of but brief duration.
After a pause, lasting but a few moments, those inexorable footsteps resumed their approach once more, and nearer and nearer they came toward the door of the last cell.
Roger and Harry glanced at one another, rose from their respective stools, and stood upright facing the door. They had just time to give each other a firm and reassuring hand-clasp, when the key grated in the rusty lock outside, the bolts were slipped back with a grinding noise, and the door creaked open on its hinges, disclosing, against the semi-darkness of the long corridor, the form of a man, robed from head to foot in black. Even his head and face were invisible, covered by a kind of black cloth helmet terminating in a peak, and with two slits cut in it for the eyes. Through these slits they could discern a pair of fiery orbs, shining like those of a cat in the darkness, looking full at them, as though to read their inmost thoughts.
If the mysterious visitor anticipated seeing any signs of alarm on the lads’ faces, he was disappointed, for the two stood up facing him, and gave him back glance for glance.
Just for a single instant the same thought leapt through both their brains: “Why not make a rush, knock the dark visitant down and stun him, and attempt to find our way out of the building before aught is discovered?” Indeed they both exchanged glances at that instant.
It seemed, however, as though the masked man read their thoughts; for, stepping to one side of the door, he pointed silently down the corridor, and there they saw what at first they had not observed, namely, a file of similarly masked figures on each side of the passage, standing against the walls, with naked swords in their hands.
It was of no use. Escape that way was, on the face of it, hopeless. The masked messenger read the expression on the boys’ faces as they looked, and they could have sworn that a cruel smile lurked behind that black mask. Then came a voice from the figure, in pure English, without a trace of any foreign accent:
“You are both required to attend a scene of punishment. It is the order of the Grand Inquisitor, and you are required to witness it as earnest of what you yourselves will undergo here should you be foolish enough to disobey, or in any way attempt to thwart, the wishes or designs of the Holy Inquisition.” Here he crossed himself. “A warning is but seldom given to heretics; so accept this one as it is meant; for your own good I tell you this. Now follow me, and be careful that you make no attempt at escape, for it is absolutely impossible for you to succeed, and you would but bring a heavy punishment on yourselves. And, above all, whatever you see or hear, keep a still tongue in your heads; do not presume to speak to anyone where you are going. If you obey implicitly it may be that you will be leniently dealt with.”
The masked man turned, beckoning over his shoulder for them to follow, and then preceded them up the passage.