The wine had fulfilled its mission, endowed her with fresh strength and renewed spirit. She was thinking quickly, every wit alert.
"I won't tell you."
"Won't, eh? That's an admission that they're here, you know. And you may as well know I propose to have 'em. Fair means or foul, take your pick. Where are they?"
"I have told you I wouldn't tell."
"I've known pluckier women than you to change their minds, under pressure." He came nearer, bending over, face close to hers, eyes savage, and gripped her wrists none too gently. "Tell me!"
"Let me go."
He proceeded calmly to imprison both small wrists in one strong, bony hand. "Better tell."
"Let me go!" she panted, struggling to rise.
His voice took on an ugly tone. "Tell!"
She was a child in his hands, but managed nevertheless to rise. As he applied the pressure more cruelly to her arms she cried aloud with pain and, struggling desperately, knocked the chair over.