"Then it was you who screamed?" "I dare say it was." "It rang through the house. The servants are all terrified." He struck
a match and lit the lamp. "I think we may get the fire to burn up
again," he added, throwing some logs upon the embers. "Good God, my
dear chap, how white you are! You look as if you had seen a ghost." "So I have--several ghosts." "The leather funnel has acted, then?" "I wouldn't sleep near the infernal thing again for all the money you
could offer me." Dacre chuckled. "I expected that you would have a lively night of it," said he. "You
took it out of me in return, for that scream of yours wasn't a very
pleasant sound at two in the morning. I suppose from what you say that
you have seen the whole dreadful business." "What dreadful business?" "The torture of the water--the 'Extraordinary Question,' as it was
called in the genial days of 'Le Roi Soleil.' Did you stand it out to
the end?" "No, thank God, I awoke before it really began." "Ah! it is just as well for you. I held out till the third bucket. Well, it is an old story, and they are all in their graves now, anyhow,
so what does it matter how they got there? I suppose that you have no
idea what it was that you have seen?" "The torture of some criminal. She must have been a terrible
malefactor indeed if her crimes are in proportion to her penalty." "Well, we have that small consolation," said Dacre, wrapping his
dressing-gown round him and crouching closer to the fire. "They WERE in
proportion to her penalty. That is to say, if I am correct in the
lady's identity." "How could you possibly know her identity?" For answer Dacre took down an old vellum-covered volume from the shelf. "Just listen to this," said he; "it is in the French of the seventeenth
century, but I will give a rough translation as I go. You will judge
for yourself whether I have solved the riddle or not. "'The prisoner was brought before the Grand Chambers and Tournelles of
Parliament, sitting as a court of justice, charged with the murder of
Master Dreux d'Aubray, her father, and of her two brothers, MM. d'Aubray, one being civil lieutenant, and the other a counsellor of
Parliament. In person it seemed hard to believe that she had really
done such wicked deeds, for she was of a mild appearance, and of short
stature, with a fair skin and blue eyes. Yet the Court, having found
her guilty, condemned her to the ordinary and to the extraordinary
question in order that she might be forced to name her accomplices,
after which she should be carried in a cart to the Place de Greve,
there to have her head cut off, her body being afterwards burned and
her ashes scattered to the winds.' "The date of this entry is July 16, 1676." "It is interesting," said I, "but not convincing. How do you prove the
two women to be the same?" "I am coming to that. The narrative goes on to tell of the woman's
behaviour when questioned. 'When the executioner approached her she
recognized him by the cords which he held in his hands, and she at once
held out her own hands to him, looking at him from head to foot without
uttering a word.' How's that?" "Yes, it was so." "'She gazed without wincing upon the wooden horse and rings which had
twisted so many limbs and caused so many shrieks of agony. When her
eyes fell upon the three pails of water, which were all ready for her,
she said with a smile, "All that water must have been brought here for
the purpose of drowning me, Monsieur. You have no idea, I trust, of
making a person of my small stature swallow it all."' Shall I read the
details of the torture?" "No, for Heaven's sake, don't." "Here is a sentence which must surely show you that what is here
recorded is the very scene which you have gazed upon tonight: 'The good
Abbe Pirot, unable to contemplate the agonies which were suffered by
his penitent, had hurried from the room.' Does that convince you?" "It does entirely. There can be no question that it is indeed the same
event. But who, then, is this lady whose appearance was so attractive
and whose end was so horrible?" For answer Dacre came across to me, and placed the small lamp upon the
table which stood by my bed. Lifting up the ill-omened filler, he
turned the brass rim so that the light fell full upon it. Seen in this
way the engraving seemed clearer than on the night before. "We have already agreed that this is the badge of a marquis or of a
marquise," said he. "We have also settled that the last letter is B." "It is undoubtedly so." "I now suggest to you that the other letters from left to right are, M,
M, a small d, A, a small d, and then the final B." "Yes, I am sure that you are right. I can make out the two small d's
quite plainly." "What I have read to you tonight," said Dacre, "is the official record
of the trial of Marie Madeleine d'Aubray, Marquise de Brinvilliers, one
of the most famous poisoners and murderers of all time." I sat in silence, overwhelmed at the extraordinary nature of the
incident, and at the completeness of the proof with which Dacre had
exposed its real meaning. In a vague way I remembered some details of
the woman's career, her unbridled debauchery, the cold-blooded and
protracted torture of her sick father, the murder of her brothers for
motives of petty gain. I recollected also that the bravery of her end
had done something to atone for the horror of her life, and that all
Paris had sympathized with her last moments, and blessed her as a
martyr within a few days of the time when they had cursed her as a
murderess. One objection, and one only, occurred to my mind. "How came her initials and her badge of rank upon the filler? Surely
they did not carry their mediaeval homage to the nobility to the point
of decorating instruments of torture with their titles?" "I was puzzled with the same point," said Dacre, "but it admits of a
simple explanation. The case excited extraordinary interest at the
time, and nothing could be more natural than that La Reynie, the head
of the police, should retain this filler as a grim souvenir. It was
not often that a marchioness of France underwent the extraordinary
question. That he should engrave her initials upon it for the
information of others was surely a very ordinary proceeding upon his
part." "And this?" I asked, pointing to the marks upon the leathern neck. "She was a cruel tigress," said Dacre, as he turned away. "I think it
is evident that like other tigresses her teeth were both strong and
sharp." The New Catacomb

"Look here, Burger," said Kennedy, "I do wish that you would confide in
me." The two famous students of Roman remains sat together in Kennedy's
comfortable room overlooking the Corso. The night was cold, and they
had both pulled up their chairs to the unsatisfactory Italian stove
which threw out a zone of stuffiness rather than of warmth.