Meanwhile, unable to communicate with the external world, Sir Redmond remained, bound hand and foot, a wretched prisoner in the power of the Wyburgs, one of whose first measures was the extortion of the cheque in question as the price of his freedom; but, though the money was duly paid, they still kept him in their hands, being somewhat doubtful whether to release or destroy him.
He knew not whether they had actually betrayed him and given over Ellinor to her sister and chaperone, Mrs. Deroubigne, and in some respects he cared not now. In his innate selfishness of heart, he cursed her bitterly as being in one sense the cause of his present predicament, and he longed with a savage energy to be free that he might turn his back on Hamburg for ever.
He strove with all his strength and energy to burst his bonds, while the veins in his forehead swelled and the perspiration poured over it, but strove, in vain, while Herr Wyburg, with his hideous visage tied up in a blood-stained cloth, sat mockingly in his chair, smoking his meerschaum, and sipping absinthe from time to time out of a green cup-shaped German glass.
The care with which the cheque had been executed and cashed induced Herr Wyburg and his spouse to extort at all risks another, for their greed and cupidity were thoroughly awakened now, and they had the miserable man completely in their power; and the circumstance that the funerals of one or two opulent burgers—one of them actually that of a senator of the city—were taking place, in which the Herr with his battered visage could take no part, and consequently pocket no fees, made him the more resolved on extortion; and, if the worst came to the worst, there were the waters of the Fleethen below the windows of the house.
'You'll never see that girl again unless you sign this other little cheque,' said Frau Wyburg, with grim decision.
'I don't care a doit about the girl; keep her,' replied Sleath through his clenched teeth. 'For God-sake,' he added, imploringly, 'give me something to drink; I am perishing of thirst.'
'Well, perish, then, if you won't sign this paper—it is stamped and ready; but, till you sign it or die, the water remains in this flagon,' replied Wyburg, placing a tall German beer-jug full of sparkling water in tantalising proximity to the wretched man's lips, and then putting it on the table, while madame looked on approvingly, her black eyes gleaming, her pale face radiant with malice and greed, her jaw looking more square, and her tiger mouth more tigerish than ever.
Somehow the words of Wyburg seemed to introduce a practical and reasonable, if intensely obnoxious, element into what seemed the phantasmal horror of a prolonged nightmare to Sir Redmond Sleath.
'What is the sum?' he asked, huskily.
'Three hundred pounds English money.'