# Munsey's/Royal Amethyst/Chapter 22

pp. 242–245

### XXII

With sudden instinctive fear I paused, holding my breath and straining my ears and eyes.
For full three minutes there reigned about me a dead silence, broken only by the gentle sighing of a light breeze in the topmost branches of the trees. I was about to move forward, when the sound which had filled me with sudden alarm came to my ears once more. I pulled myself up sharply for the second time, and my ears strained achingly at the sound. I heard it again and again; then followed a deep silence.
The sound seemed to come from a considerable distance, and was indistinct, blurred, muffled. It was more like some inarticulate sound born of the earth than the voice of a human being or the cry of a brute; and yet I could not help feeling that it was a call for help.
Very slowly I approached the ruins, and in the deep shadow of one of the towers I paused once more and listened. The sound came again. I started with the sudden shock of a surprising discovery—it proceeded from beneath me. The voice was that of a human being, and it came from some cavity or dungeon in the rock beneath the ruined stronghold.
The only thought that flashed into my mind was that some unfortunate person had fallen from the ruins into some deep pit or cavity, and now lay waiting for help. I began advancing along the walls and over the heaps of fallen masonry with extreme caution, lest a false step should result in a broken limb. For several minutes I made my way here and there about the ruins, gradually approaching a lower level; and at last, with a suddenness that made me jump, I heard the voice once more, and this time I could distinguish it clearly.
“Help!” it cried.
It seemed to come from beneath my feet. Bending down and examining the wall near the foot of the principal tower, I discovered that I was standing by a small arched doorway. As I fumbled about, the cry came again and yet again from the interior of the tower; but it was still muffled and indistinct. When it died away for the third time, it trailed off into something like a cry of pain or a half articulate sobbing.
I had a box of matches in my pocket. When I had struck one, and had thrown its feeble light into the low archway at which I stood, I saw that this opening afforded no chance of entering the tower, for it was almost entirely blocked by fallen masonry. Its sides were hewn out of solid rock, and it had once formed the entrance to a stairway.
As I examined it, the cry reached me again, and this time it died away into a miserable sobbing wail. There was something hopeless and despairing in its appeal, like the whimper of a dog caught in a trap.
I was now certain that some unhappy wretch was immured in the tower, and I continued my scramble around the base to find an entrance. There was rubbish and a thick growth of bushes all about. At last, at the foot of the rock, I was able to make out another arched doorway, almost hidden by weeds and briers. It seemed to open into the tower, for there was no rubbish or débris to bar one's way. There was no doubt that it was still in use, for on holding my torch to the floor I found unmistakable prints of recent footsteps.
As I stood there, the voice once more cried for help, and again subsided into despairing whimperings and sobbings. I now seemed to be much nearer to it. I felt sure that some venturesome tourist had climbed the tower and fallen over, and now lay, probably badly hurt, at the foot of the interior. There was nothing to do but to explore the passageway that led from the arched entrance.
I set about making a torch from scraps of paper. It gave but a poor light, and for a moment I thought of retracing my steps to Annalleen for help; but the castle was at least a mile away, and the voice was insistent and full of appeal. I went forward cautiously. The paper torch burned itself out, and I was obliged to have recourse to my matches. I kept advancing, however, and I found that the passageway sloped downward a little and wound in and out a good deal.
I made good progress, and met with no discouragement save a bump or two against the hidden twistings of the walls. Then, striding rapidly into the darkness, as the match paled and went out, I suddenly strode into nothingness. For a second I knew that I was falling through space, and a deadly sickness of fear and horror seized upon me and swamped me. Then came a stunning blow, which crashed all over my body and brought with it a merciful oblivion.
After a time I became conscious that some one was forcing something into my mouth—brandy. I felt a drop of it trickle over my tongue, then another, and a third. Finally a little stream ran along. It was like fire.
I began to cough. A hand shook me. I heard voices, which sounded far-away and indistinct. Very slowly I recovered sufficient of my scattered senses to make me aware that I was aching all over; that there was a peculiarly sharp, grating pain in my left arm; and that I felt as if somebody had wound wrappings about my body after the fashion in which mummies are swathed. In the end I regained full consciousness and opened my eyes.
Count Hofberg and Samuel Jefferson were standing over me.
I looked about me and took in all the details of the scene in which I found myself. I was in a vaulted hall, which had evidently escaped much of the wreck and ruin that had befallen the rest of the old stronghold. There were remains of decorations on the walls, and the roof was supported by four pillars. To one of these pillars I was securely tied with a stout piece of cord. There was a sufficient light in the center of the place—two large lamps stood on the floor and another swung from a hook in the ceiling. Beyond the small square space within the four pillars, however, everything was wrapped in gloom.
As I came back to the full possession of my senses, I found myself gazing with horror and dread at the three human beings who shared this evil-smelling place with me.
Facing me, and half hanging from the pillar to which he was bound, I saw Carburton, a blood-stained cloth twisted about his disordered hair, and blood stains crimsoning the ghastly white of his face. His head hung limp on his shoulders, and a handkerchief had been tied tightly about his mouth and chin.
For a moment I thought he was fainting, but presently he raised his head and looked at me, and from me his glance turned to the count and Jefferson. It was not until I caught that glance that the full horror of the situation dawned upon me. Carburton's eyes were the eyes of a trapped animal. His glance was that which such an animal turns on its slayer—full of despair, horror, utter hopelessness.
As for Count Hofberg and Jefferson, they stood a pace or two away from me, watching me. Hofberg betrayed no sign of emotion. Jefferson looked as sanctimonious as ever, but there was a gleam of covert satisfaction in his small eyes. In his hands he held a long, slender rod of bright steel, which he was bending and straightening like a riding switch.
The count was screwing on the lid of the flask out of which he had just dosed me with brandy.
“Well, Mr. Hanmer!” he said at last. “So you have come to! That was a bad fall you had. If by some strange miracle you should be alive to-morrow, you will feel its effects. However, I don't think you need fear. You blundered in more than one way when you made that false step, and one must always pay for a mistake. You will not have much to pay—only your life, and that is about as worthless as it can be. Ah, my dear sir, you were greatly in error when you refused my offer the other day! It will put me to the trouble of shooting you presently, and I hate trouble.”
I knew that the man meant every word he said, and a horrible fear seized upon me. I felt the sweat burst from me as my heart gave one convulsive leap. The next instant a scream rang out from my lips and set the place ringing; then another, and yet another. They gagged me, and I hung back from my bonds, panting.
“Nervous, eh, Mr. Hanmer?” said the mocking voice, calm and collected as ever. “Well, that's the result of years of alcoholic excess. Mr. Hanmer, let me introduce Mr. Neil Hartopp, hitherto known to you as Mr. Paul Carburton. Mr. Hartopp, my dear Mr. Hanmer, is one of the cleverest thieves in the world. He has appropriated the famous amethyst and the valuable jewels. We are not quite sure how Mr. Hartopp managed this little coup, and we have not yet succeeded in persuading him to tell us where the spoils are hidden. He has spent two nights and two days here, and his food has been very plain. He is a stubborn man, but there are limits to every one's patience, and mine, I fear, is exhausted. In fact, gentlemen”—here the count bowed with mock politeness—“I am obliged to bring all this to an end, and I will lose no more time in doing so.”
He crossed over to the prisoner's side with two or three rapid steps. I saw the tortured wretch shrink in his bonds. Count Hofberg, calm as ever, showed no sign of emotion.
“Now, then, my man,” said he, placing a hand on the other's shoulder, “don't be a fool! It is useless to resist us further. Nobody can help you, not even our friend Hanmer there. Now, then, where are the jewels? Give me a sign that you will reveal the secret of their hiding place, and I will take the gag out of your mouth, I ask you once more—where are they?”
He drew out his watch and stood waiting, glancing alternately at it and at the man. The latter stared fixedly before him. At the end of what seemed to me to be quite a long time, Count Hofberg closed the watch with a snap.
“Very good!” he said. Then we will try a little persuasion. Hartopp, you see the steel rod which Mr. Jefferson holds in his hand, and you also see the lamp there. We are going to heat that rod, and then we shall proceed to make some experiments with it upon your body. Jefferson, you may go to work.”
Jefferson went to work without comment or waste of time. He took off the thick glass shade that protected the flame of the lamp, wrapped a handkerchief about one end of the steel rod, and thrust the other into the flame. I watched the steel change color.
Now Count Hofberg took the rod, and faced Hartopp, his right hand holding the instrument of torture. The wretch shrank within his bonds. His eyes glowed, and his face was livid with agony.
The count raised the glowing rod to within a few inches of the man's chin. I caught a faint hissing sound and saw the beard melting away in smoke. Another instant, and the muffled yell of a man in horrible agony broke through the gag, and there penetrated to my nostrils the smell of burning flesh.
“Merely a beginning, Hartopp,” Count Hofberg said calmly. “Once more, where are the jewels? Still dumb? Then we must try a little harder. Jefferson, take off his shoes and stockings.”
I could not keep my eyes from watching these horrors. The count smiled as he walked over to the lamp and dipped the steel rod into its flame again.
He sighed wearily and went back to his victim. Once more the muffled roar of agony—then the tortured wretch's strength of mind gave away, and his drawn face endeavored to signify his submission. Count Hofberg dropped the steel rod, and in another instant the gag was out of the man's mouth.
“Yes, yes!” he gasped, half choked. “Yes, I'll tell. Oh, water! For God's sake, water!”
Then his head fell forward like a lump of wood. I thought he was dead; but Count Hofberg showed no concern. He drew out his brandy flask, and in a few moments the man came back to life.
The spirit appeared to communicate fresh doggedness and defiance to him; but all the strength went out of his eyes and face when Jefferson, at a sign from Count Hofberg, dipped the steel rod into the flame once more. His head dropped forward on his chest, and he began to mutter.
His captors went close up to him and listened. I could not catch a syllable, but within a few seconds they turned away from him. I knew that neither he nor I need expect mercy from the two ruffians who held us prisoners, I was absolutely certain of the imminence of my own death. I knew that Count Hofberg would never permit me to escape alive with his secret in my possession.
A curious change came over me. The horror which I had felt at first was replaced by a complete apathy. I watched the further operations of the two men with a feeling of impersonal inquisitiveness.
After they had received Paul Carburton's—or Neil Hartopp's—confession, they talked in low tones for a few moments. Then Jefferson picked up one of the lamps, and they passed away beyond the pillars into the recesses of the dungeon, which I now found to be of considerable extent. I saw the glimmer of the lamp for some little time; then it suddenly disappeared, as if Jefferson and his companion had turned a corner.
Suddenly the crack of a revolver rang out through the heavy stillness of that accursed dungeon. The sound of the shot woke the other man out of his stupor. He lifted his head and looked at me again, and I saw his lips move. His head dropped, and he collapsed, falling limply within his bonds.
The spark of the lantern reappeared in the gloom of the farther recesses. It grew larger and brighter. Within another moment Count Hofberg stepped into the clearer light of the area within the pillars. He was alone.