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