She merely loosened the gag a little, that she might breathe easier.
Then flinging a pail of water over her victim, as she might have flung a worthless bone to a cur, Tige took her departure, allowing Helen to return to consciousness or die, she did not much care which.
But she did not forget to take with her the nails she had extracted.
Reaching the door of her own room, secured by a number of strong and elaborately made locks, she paused to unlock it, and then entered.
At one side of the room was a bed, in the center a table, in one recess a sofa, which, in addition to a few chairs, made up the furniture of the room, save a small glass-front cabinet that was attached to the wall.
The door of this she unlocked.
Glancing in, she gave vent to a chuckle that was perfectly horrid.
What was it—perhaps you ask—that produced this chuckle on Tige's part?
Nothing more nor less than a few score of human toe-nails, dragged out by the roots as Helen's had been.
They were the horrible mementoes that drew back to her memory those whom she had tortured in days gone by.