Chapter XXXIX: The Test

Pawter looked at the phosphorescent dial of his watch and with some difficulty returned it to his pocket, for the handcuffs about his wrists were of a type that he had never seen before. He suspected that they had been found in the monastery, and remembered the Grand Prior telling him, many years before, that he had discovered a cell evidently used to incarcerate monks who had lost their reason. He was probably in that prison house now.

What would they do with him? Would the purple-veiled Prior carry his threat into execution? It was more than an hour since the man had taken his departure, and there had been no sign or sound of him.

There were two doors in the small stone room in which he was held prisoner, and in spite of his bound ankles he had succeeded in hopping to both, to find, as he had expected, that they were locked. He had scarcely put away his watch before he heard the shooting of bolts, the door opened and the purple man came in, carrying a candle lantern, which he placed on the floor. By its side he put a flat metal case, which he opened, and Pawter saw, with some astonishment, that his captor literally intended to fulfil his threat, for he took out a diminutive spirit stove and a pair of steel tongs.

He struck a match, and the stove burnt bluely. Then, laying the tongs on two projecting brackets, he watched the steady flame curl about the steel.

“It will take a little time before they are hot enough,” said the voice, “time for you to reflect, my friend.”

He went out of the room and returned with the coat which Pawter had taken off when he had put on his robe.

“Our good friend Blackwood was curious as to where you had gone.” He mentioned the fact casually.

“What are you going to do?” There was no tremor in Pawter’s voice when he put the question. And then:

“Hurt you,” was the calm reply, “hurt you so badly that you will do as I wish.”

“In other words, you’re going to revert to the practice of the Middle Ages, eh?” Pawter was calm, almost bland. “It has been a wonder to me how these ancient folk endured torture, and now I’m going to discover for myself!”

“That is exactly what will happen,” said the mask. “You have lived a fairly comfortable life, Mr. Pawter, maintained yourself free from aches and pains, and I doubt very much whether you can imagine what will happen when real pain, comes to you.”

“I can imagine a whole lot of things,” said Pawter, watching the blue flame of the spirit lamp, “but I can’t imagine making myself a party to your fraud by signing those cheques.”

The Prior lifted the tongs, held them near to his face, and put them back again in the flames.

“Not hot enough yet,” he said pleasantly. “Pawter, you’re a fool. I am willing to pay you a very considerable sum for your services, and to continue that payment every half-year. You would be a rich man in five years’ time.”

“I’m a rich man now,” said the other easily, “and if I did what you ask me, my riches would weight me down and crush me.”

At the end of five minutes, during which time neither man spoke, the Prior lifted the tongs.

“They are hot,” he said, and brought them near to Pawter’s face, but the bald man did not shrink.

Nearer and nearer, until the heat was intolerable, and yet, with an unbelievable stoicism, he sat rigid, unmoving.

“Not pleasant, eh? Imagine them held to your eyelids--that makes you feel bad? Listen.” The spurious amiability left his voice. “There’s nothing I will not do to make you carry out my wishes. I’ll blind you--do you understand that? I’ll shut off from you the chief joy of life--your vision! Am I to be checked at the moment of my success by a dog of a tradesman?”

His voice rose shrilly, the hands that held the tongs were trembling.

“At the very edge of fortune, shall I hesitate----”

_Rap, rap, rap._

Somebody was knocking at the door. He half turned.

“Who’s there?” he called.

_Rap, rap, rap!_

“Who is it?” The man in purple almost screamed the question.

“Open, in the name of the King!” said a voice on the other side of the door--the voice of Inspector Bullott!