"Remain close by my side, and remember to utter no cry," whispered the
voice of his guide, and as the clerk turned to reply he saw his face was
stern to whiteness and even shone a little in the darkness. The room they entered seemed at first to be pitchy black, but gradually
the secretary perceived a faint reddish glow against the farther end,
and thought he saw figures moving silently to and fro. "Now watch!" whispered Thorpe, as they pressed close to the wall near
the door and waited. "But remember to keep absolute silence. It is a
torture scene." Jones felt utterly afraid, and would have turned to fly if he dared, for
an indescribable terror seized him and his knees shook; but some power
that made escape impossible held him remorselessly there, and with eyes
glued on the spots of light he crouched against the wall and waited. The figures began to move more swiftly, each in its own dim light that
shed no radiance beyond itself, and he heard a soft clanking of chains
and the voice of a man groaning in pain. Then came the sound of a door
closing, and thereafter Jones saw but one figure, the figure of an old
man, naked entirely, and fastened with chains to an iron framework on
the floor. His memory gave a sudden leap of fear as he looked, for the
features and white beard were familiar, and he recalled them as though
of yesterday. The other figures had disappeared, and the old man became the centre of
the terrible picture. Slowly, with ghastly groans; as the heat below him
increased into a steady glow, the aged body rose in a curve of agony,
resting on the iron frame only where the chains held wrists and ankles
fast. Cries and gasps filled the air, and Jones felt exactly as though
they came from his own throat, and as if the chains were burning into
his own wrists and ankles, and the heat scorching the skin and flesh
upon his own back. He began to writhe and twist himself. "Spain!" whispered the voice at his side, "and four hundred years ago." "And the purpose?" gasped the perspiring clerk, though he knew quite
well what the answer must be. "To extort the name of a friend, to his death and betrayal," came the
reply through the darkness. A sliding panel opened with a little rattle in the wall immediately
above the rack, and a face, framed in the same red glow, appeared and
looked down upon the dying victim. Jones was only just able to choke
a scream, for he recognised the tall dark man of his dreams. With
horrible, gloating eyes he gazed down upon the writhing form of the old
man, and his lips moved as in speaking, though no words were actually
audible. "He asks again for the name," explained the other, as the clerk
struggled with the intense hatred and loathing that threatened every
moment to result in screams and action. His ankles and wrists pained him
so that he could scarcely keep still, but a merciless power held him to
the scene. He saw the old man, with a fierce cry, raise his tortured head and spit
up into the face at the panel, and then the shutter slid back again, and
a moment later the increased glow beneath the body, accompanied by awful
writhing, told of the application of further heat. There came the odour
of burning flesh; the white beard curled and burned to a crisp; the body
fell back limp upon the red-hot iron, and then shot up again in fresh
agony; cry after cry, the most awful in the world, rang out with
deadened sound between the four walls; and again the panel slid back
creaking, and revealed the dreadful face of the torturer. Again the name was asked for, and again it was refused; and this time,
after the closing of the panel, a door opened, and the tall thin man
with the evil face came slowly into the chamber. His features were
savage with rage and disappointment, and in the dull red glow that fell
upon them he looked like a very prince of devils. In his hand he held a
pointed iron at white heat. "Now the murder!" came from Thorpe in a whisper that sounded as if it
was outside the building and far away. Jones knew quite well what was coming, but was unable even to close his
eyes. He felt all the fearful pains himself just as though he were
actually the sufferer; but now, as he stared, he felt something more
besides; and when the tall man deliberately approached the rack and
plunged the heated iron first into one eye and then into the other, he
heard the faint fizzing of it, and felt his own eyes burst in frightful
pain from his head. At the same moment, unable longer to control
himself, he uttered a wild shriek and dashed forward to seize the
torturer and tear him to a thousand pieces. Instantly, in a flash, the
entire scene vanished; darkness rushed in to fill the room, and he felt
himself lifted off his feet by some force like a great wind and borne
swiftly away into space. When he recovered his senses he was standing just outside the house and
the figure of Thorpe was beside him in the gloom. The great doors were
in the act of closing behind him, but before they shut he fancied he
caught a glimpse of an immense veiled figure standing upon the
threshold, with flaming eyes, and in his hand a bright weapon like a
shining sword of fire. "Come quickly now--all is over!" Thorpe whispered. "And the dark man--?" gasped the clerk, as he moved swiftly by the
other's side. "In this present life is the Manager of the company." "And the victim?" "Was yourself!" "And the friend he--_I_ refused to betray?" "I was that friend," answered Thorpe, his voice with every moment
sounding more and more like the cry of the wind. "You gave your life in
agony to save mine." "And again, in this life, we have all three been together?" "Yes. Such forces are not soon or easily exhausted, and justice is not
satisfied till all have reaped what they sowed." Jones had an odd feeling that he was slipping away into some other state
of consciousness. Thorpe began to seem unreal. Presently he would be
unable to ask more questions. He felt utterly sick and faint with it
all, and his strength was ebbing. "Oh, quick!" he cried, "now tell me more. Why did I see this? What must
I do?" The wind swept across the field on their right and entered the wood
beyond with a great roar, and the air round him seemed filled with
voices and the rushing of hurried movement. "To the ends of justice," answered the other, as though speaking out
of the centre of the wind and from a distance, "which sometimes is
entrusted to the hands of those who suffered and were strong. One wrong
cannot be put right by another wrong, but your life has been so worthy
that the opportunity is given to--"

The voice grew fainter and fainter, already it was far overhead with the
rushing wind. "You may punish or--" Here Jones lost sight of Thorpe's figure
altogether, for he seemed to have vanished and melted away into the
wood behind him. His voice sounded far across the trees, very weak, and
ever rising. "Or if you can rise to the level of a great forgiveness--"

The voice became inaudible....