"You forget what you boasted to Sprowl, under the bridge," said Penn.
"You forget what you just now boasted to me," said Virginia.
"Call it boasting," said Bythewood, doggedly. "Absolutely, I have not the power to effect what you require."
"It is your misfortune, then," said Pomp. "To have boasted so, and now to fail to perform, will simply cost you your life. Will you write? or not?"
The prisoner remained sullen, abject, silent, for some seconds. Then, with a deep breath which shook all his frame, and an expression of the most agonizing despair on his face, he took the pen.
"I will write; but I assure you it will do no good."
"So much the worse for you," was the grim response.
Mechanically and briefly Bythewood drew up a paper, signed his name, and shoved it across the table.
"Does that suit you?"
Pomp did not offer to take it.