"To Mike Clinch, my fathaire, from his child Eve. … I am hostage, held by Jose Quintana. Pay what you owe him and I go free.
"For each day delay he sends you one finger which will be severed from my right hand——"
Eve's slender fingers trembled; she looked up at the masked man, stared steadily into his brilliant eyes.
"Proceed miss, if you are so amiable," he said softly.
She wrote on: "— One finger for every day's delay. The whole hand at the week's end. The other hand then, finger by finger. Then, alas! the right foot——"
Eve trembled.
"Proceed," he said softly.
She wrote: "If you agree you shall pay what you owe to Jose Quintana in this manner: you shall place a stick at the edge of the Star Pond where the Star rivulet flows out. Upon this stick you shall tie a white rag. At the foot of the stick you shall lay the parcel which contains your indebt to Jose Quintana.
"Failing this, by to-night one finger at sunset."
The man pause: Eve waited, dumb under the surging confusion in her brain. A sort of incredulous horror benumbed her, through which she still heard and perceived.