A more viciously cruel and vindictive creature never drew the breath of life.
She laughed again, and slowly pressed the weapon closer—and then, with a sudden startled cry, she drew back and leaped to her feet.
A noise like that of a mighty cannonade seemed to shake even the solid walls of this buried chamber.
It was the crash of thunder in the heavens overhead.
It was Cervera's first intimation of the terrible tempest that had been gathering outside.
At first she thought the sound was that of revolvers, and she darted to the door and listened, pressing her ear to the wall.
The instant her back was turned, Nick made a desperate attempt to free himself, straining cords and muscles under the determined effort. It proved vain, however. The ropes held him as if made of twisted steel.
Yet in his brief but desperate struggle his right arm came in contact with an object in the side pocket of his sack coat.
The object was a box nearly filled with parlor matches—one of the most dangerous and treacherous creations of man's inventive genius.
Like a sudden revelation, or a bolt out of the blue, there leaped up in Nick's mind a possible way of escape.