I had walked, it seemed, into a nightmare; but then, so had
the world.
"This isn't a tea party, Mr. Bayne," said Franz von Blenheim. "It is
war. Those papers belong to my government and they are going back. I
shall stop at nothing, nothing on earth, to get them; so if you have any
influence with this young lady, you had better use it now."
"I am not afraid." The girl's voice was unshaken, bless her. "I said you
could kill me--and I meant it. But I will not tell."
"And I will not kill you, Miss Falconer." The German's tones were level,
and his eyes, as they dwelt steadily on her, were as hard and cold as
steel. "I don't want you dead; I want you living, with a tongue and
using it; and you will use it. You talk bravely, but you have no
conception--how should you have?--of physical pain. When that iron is
red-hot, if you have not spoken, I shall hold it to your arm and press
it--"
"Damn you!" The cry was wrenched out of me. "Not while I am here!"
"You will be here, Mr. Bayne, just so long as it suits me." A sort of
cold ferocity was growing in Blenheim's tones.
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