I opened my eyes in darkness. How long I had remained insensible I did not know, nor did I know where I was. All that I was conscious of at first was a dull pain in my head, but presently I was sensible of other facts. My hands were tied behind me, and my mouth was gagged, so that I could only utter unintelligible moans. To my astonishment my moans were answered by similar sounds at a short distance from me. Pain and suffering are selfish and dominant qualities, and some few moments passed before I thought of my brave Sophy. Then it occurred to me that the moans I heard proceeded from her, and that she was in the same condition as myself. My immediate feeling was one of thankfulness that she was alive. In vain did I strive to free my hands; in vain did I strive to speak intelligible words; in vain did I strive to pierce the black darkness in which we were enveloped. I did not know whether it was day or night, and I shuddered to think of the fate in store for us. Soon I found myself forgetting my own peril entirely, and dwelling only upon poor Sophy's. Bitterly did I reproach myself for bringing her to this pass, for it was I, and I alone, who was responsible for the doom which would surely overtake her. I had no doubt that we were imprisoned here to die, and it was I who had sealed her fate.

My thoughts did not flow steadily and uninterruptedly. Every now and then I relapsed into unconsciousness, and when I revived it seemed to me as if I took up quite naturally the thread of my reflections at the point at which they were broken off. These intervals of insensibility may have been long or short for all I knew. I was starving; I was parched; I would have given the world for a drink of water; but I can say truthfully that if water had been available for only one of us, I would have set my lips hard and given the relief to my companion in misery. I have read of exquisite tortures inflicted upon unfortunate people by barbarous nations--aye, and by some civilized nations as well--but no tortures could have been keener than those I endured. Minutes were like hours, hours like days. It was impossible under such conditions to keep count of time.

There were sounds of movement outside our prison house, if house it was, sounds of scraping feet and falling stones. I strained my ears. Nearer and nearer came these sounds, until they were within a few feet of me in my rear, but I was so securely bound that I could not turn my head. One word was spoken in the form of a question:

"Alive?"

The voice was that of Dr. Peterssen. I had never heard it, but I would have staked my hopes of release upon the issue. Not by the faintest moan did Sophy or I answer this ruthless question. A match was struck, a candle was lighted, and Dr. Peterssen stood between us, holding the candle above his head: With malicious significance he put the candle close to poor Sophy's face, then close to mine, and waved his left hand as though he were introducing us to each other. I gazed at Sophy, who was as little able to move as I was myself, and the tears came into my eyes as I noted the absence of reproach in her observance of me. Indeed, her expression was one of pity, and not for herself.

"Touching, isn't it?" asked Dr. Peterssen, and then cried savagely, "You pair of beauties! You reap what you have sown!"

By the dim light I perceived that we were in a kind of cave, the entrance to which was at the back of us, and I judged that the cavity was low down one of the dangerous cliffs of which we had been warned. After his attack upon us Dr. Peterssen must have carried us here and buried us alive, as it were. I subsequently learned that my surmise was correct, and that I had hit upon the exact method of our imprisonment.

Dr. Peterssen stuck the candle, in a niche, and approached me.

"Would you like to be free to speak?" he inquired. "If so, move your head."

I moved my head.

"You will not shout?" he continued. "You will not cry for help? Move your head again, and I accept it as your word of honor. You are a gentleman, and would not forfeit it." There was a frightful scorn in his voice when he referred to me as a gentleman.

I moved my head again, and he took the gag from my mouth.

"Raise your voice above its natural tone, and I cut this beauty's fingers off."

He took a clasp-knife from his pocket and opened the blade. It was sharp, it was bright, and I knew he would keep his word.

"A drink of water," I murmured.

"I have it here. Drink." He held an uncorked bottle to my lips.

"Not for me," I said. "For her."

"You will drink first," he said; "then she shall have her turn. If you refuse neither of you shall touch it."

I drank, and I saw that Sophy closed her eyes while I did so. Nectar was never so sweet as that long draught, for he did not stint me. Then he replaced the gag in my mouth, and removing Sophy's, went through the same process with her.

"That's jolly," said Sophy, faintly.

"Yes," said the scoundrel, "you will be very jolly by the time I have done with you. Listen to me. You clever couple are as completely in my power as if we were on a desert island. Not a human being is within miles of us. To show you how little I care for your cries, I free both your tongues." Once more he took the gag from my mouth. "Only if you speak too loudly, each shall suffer for the other. I will cut you to pieces before each other's eyes if you disobey me. So my clever little beauty, you came into my house as a dumb girl. Are you dumb? Answer--quick!"

"No, I ain't," said Sophy; "you know that as well as I do."

"But you played your part well--I will say that of you--and went about like a sly mute, eyes and ears open, ready for treachery. If I had suspected, you would never have got out alive. Answer my questions, and answer them truthfully, if you do not wish to be tortured to death. Did you steal the desk?" Sophy was silent; he laid the keen blade of the knife he held on her face. "Answer!"

"Answer him, Sophy," I said, fearing for the child.

"Yes," she said, "I did steal the desk."

"Who set you on?"

"I did," I replied, quickly. "She is not to blame. Upon me should fall the punishment, not upon her."

"It shall fall upon both of you, and upon your comrade who brought her to me, if only I can lay hands on him. There was a secret in that desk, was there not? Don't keep me waiting too long."

"There was," I said.

"Did you find it?"

"Not I, but another found it."

"Your friend, and that sharp-witted gentleman from Switzerland. A copy of a marriage certificate, was it not?"

"Yes."

"To think," he said bitterly, "that that fool should have had the desk in his possession all these years, and never discovered it? He is rightly served. He can play no fool's tricks where he is now.

"He is dead?" I said.

"He is dead. I killed him, as I intend to kill you, only yours will be a longer and more lingering death. Do you think my confession injudicious? You are mistaken. You will never more see the light of day; you will never more set eyes upon a human being but myself. You are here, in a tomb. This is your grave. I can afford to be candid with you. Open speaking is a luxury in which I can freely indulge. Here, eat." He fed us with hard dry bread, and we both ate ravenously, he watching us the while with malignant eyes. "Am I not a merciful jailer? But I don't want you to die just yet. You shall suffer still more. Tell me why you have been hunting me down?"

"I was engaged in befriending a much-injured lady."

"You had better have looked after your own business, and left me to manage my own unmolested. A much-injured lady? Christian name, Emilia?"

"Yes. I cannot injure her by answering you truthfully. She has powerful friends near her who are capable of protecting her."

"Doubtless. Something more was discovered through this little witch here, was there not? Remember what I have threatened you with. The truth I will have, if I have to cut it out of your heart. What more have you discovered?"

"To what do you refer?"

"I had a patient--I speak in the past tense, because I have given up business--concerning whom you entertained some curiosity. You know who that patient was. His name? Quick!" He touched Sophy's hand with the point of his knife, and drew blood. She never winced.

To save the poor girl, I answered, "Gerald Paget."

"Good. These compelling measures are admirable. But do not think you are telling me news. I can find my way through a maze as well as most people. It is in my power to give you some interesting information. For instance as to where this Gerald Paget is at the present moment."

"You have not disposed of him, then," I ventured to say.

"Oh, no. Another kind of death is in store for him. He is in prison for the murder of a gentleman unknown to the law, but known to us as Leonard Paget, to many others as M. Felix."

I repressed the indignant words that rose to my lips. Dr. Peterssen smiled and continued: "It is a remarkable complication. A man is found dead in Deering Woods, shot through the heart. This man is Leonard Paget, alias M. Felix. There is found upon his person nothing that can lead to his identity. The murder is perpetrated at a distance from London, and no one suspects there can be any connection between the murdered man and the M. Felix who so mysteriously disappeared from the purlieus of Soho. The last whose suspicions are likely to be roused are Emilia Paget--I am courteous enough, you see, to call her by her right name--and her friends. Wrapped up in their own concerns, a murder so re............