Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes were closed, her face was white as marble, and her head hung inertly on one side. She was clearly unconscious.
It must have been her scream of terror that I had heard while we sat at dinner!
“What does this mean?” I demanded trying to rise. But my hands were secured tightly behind my back with a piece of rope, which had been passed through a hole in the wall behind me and secured upon the opposite side.
I was powerless to move more than six inches from the wall!
“It means that you have only five minutes more to live!” the old man answered slowly, with diabolical grin. “You escaped once by a miracle—but I have taken good care not to fail this time.”
“You assassin!” I cried, glaring at him and yet entirely powerless.
“That’s enough!” he cried, striking me a blow upon the cheek with his open hand.
“But I can’t understand!” I cried. “What harm have I done—or what has Thelma done?”
“It does not matter to either of you,” he laughed. “You love her. You’ve told me so. Well—in five minutes’ time you will be married to her—in death!”
My brain was clearing rapidly as the effect of the drug I had taken wore off and I was cool enough to think keenly to desire some means of escape. But, try as I would, I was powerless. The more I strained at my bonds the more cruelly the rope cut into my tortured wrists.