One of the other four growled, spitefully:
“Yes. And at once, whatever happens!”
The last speaker had a big black mustache; and Patrice recognized the other man whose conversation at the restaurant he had overheard, that is to say, one of Coralie’s assailants, the one who had taken to flight. His gray-felt hat lay on a chair.
“All lengths, Bournef, whatever happens, eh?” grinned the leader. “Well, let’s get on with the work. So you refuse to give up your secret, Essarès, old man? We shall have some fun.”
All their movements must have been prepared beforehand and the parts carefully arranged, for the actions which they carried out were performed in an incredibly prompt and methodical fashion.
After the man was tied up, they lifted him into an easy-chair with a very low back, to which they fastened him round the chest and waist with a rope. His legs, which were bound together, were placed on the seat of a heavy chair of the same height as the arm-chair, with the two feet projecting. Then the victim’s shoes and socks were removed.
“Roll him along!” said the leader.
Between two of the four windows that overlooked the chimney was a large fire-place, in which burnt a red coal-fire, white in places with the intense heat of the hearth. The men pushed the two chairs bearing the victim until his bare feet were within twenty inches of the blazing coals.
In spite of his gag, the man uttered a hideous yell of pain, while his legs, in spite of their bonds, succeeded in contracting and curling upon themselves.
“Go on!” shouted the leader, passionately. “Go on! Nearer!”