"You are accused of treason against the State," Kroll said sonorously. "But it is my duty to inform you that your sentence may be mitigated upon your delivering us certain information—about leaders of your movement, future plans, location of your party cell, and so forth."
Florence Horniman's eyes flashed brightly. "I won't tell you anything!"
"Perhaps I did not make myself clear," Kroll said. He repeated his offer.
"The answer is still no!"
Kroll sighed. "Very well," he said. A third hand slid from the Inquisitor's body and a needle-thin finger traced a line down the girl's bare arm. A bloody trickle appeared.
She began to sob again. Kroll stepped closer and lifted her head. "Why must you hold out?" he asked. "Why don't you speak?"
Still silence. The finger rose again and sliced lightly across her cheek.
"All right, take her away," Kroll said when twenty minutes had passed. The Inquisitor was humming merrily, busily taping the data that had been extracted from the girl and feeding it to the main computers downstairs. They would integrate it and notify the State Police. It was a smooth-functioning system.
The bloody thing that had been Florence Horniman was led away by a guard, and the next prisoner led in. It was the middle-aged man, Chester Wengrove.