"It is there."
He flung himself down at that, cursing and protesting by turns. But I remembered the trampled corn, and the girl's bleeding face, and I was inexorable. The stocking was drawn off, not too tenderly, and turned inside out. Still no list was found.
"He has it," I persisted. "We have tried the shoe and we have tried the stocking, now we must try the foot. Fetch a stirrup-leather, and do you hold him, and let one of the grooms give him a dozen on that foot."
But at that he gave way; he flung himself on his knees, screaming for mercy.
"The list!" I said,
"I have no list! I have none!" he wailed.
"Then give it me out of your head. Curtin, how much?"
He glanced at the man I named, and shivered, and for a moment was silent. But one of the grooms approaching with the stirrup-leather, he found his voice. "Forty crowns," he muttered.
"Fonvelle?"
"The same."