He eyed a clock on the wall.
The radical, whose hands were tied behind him, nevertheless managed to strike a defiant pose. "I don't intend to tell you, Norbith. It is true that I handed them to one of my comrades; but I shall not tell you which one."
"Your time is up," said the man with the silver heart evenly. "Will you tell?"
Ernol contented himself with a contemptuous shake of the head. The man of the couch, for the first time conceding young Ernol's presence, now ordered him brought forward.
"I know," he told the father, "that it would be useless to work with YOU. You are just fool enough to imagine that suffering means martyrdom.
"But I told you that I must have those photographs. I meant it. I shall have that information if I have to torture you until I get it!"
"Go right ahead!" taunted the revolutionist; but his face was white.
Norbith turned to the boy's guards. "Strap him into this chair!"
It was done in half a minute. The doctor had no way of seeing how the boy took it, except that he studiously avoided his father's eyes, and that he made no sound.
"Now move him under that clock!"