close to me:

"Now, you runners--and you, John Kemp--here you be on the brink of
eternity, above the old quarry. There's a sheer drop of a hundred feet.
We'll tie your legs and hang you by your fingers. If you hang long
enough, you'll have time to say your prayers. Look alive, lads!"

The voice of one of the runners began to shout, "You'll swing for
this--you------"

As for me I was in a dream. "Jack," I said, "Jack, you won't----"

"Oh, that's all right," the voice said in a whisper. "Mum, now! It's all
_right_."

It withdrew itself a little from my ear and called, "'Now then, ready
with them. When I say three...."

I heard groans and curses, and began to shout for help. My voice came
back in an echo, despairingly. Suddenly I was dragged backward, and the
bandage pulled from my eyes,

"Come along," Rangsley said, leading me gently enough to the road, which
was five steps behind. "It's all a joke," he snarled. "A pretty bad one
for those catchpolls. Hear 'em groan. The drop's not two feet."

We made a few paces down the road; the pitiful voices of the runners
crying for help came plainly to my ears.

"You--they--aren't murdering them?" I asked.