After giving the victim time to recover from the choking sensation, the mulatto repeated his question.

The fear of an ignominious death, of dying under such revolting circumstances, had a cooling effect upon the bravado spirit of the lawyer.  His pride had received a most salutary shock, and he felt disposed to treat for his life, even with the despised slave of Miss Dumont.  Had his tormentor been any other than one of that detested race, he could easily have regarded him as a man and conceded something for the boon of life.  Reduced to the last extremity by the relentless energy of his victor, he had no choice but to yield the point or die.

“Will you answer my questions?” repeated Hatchie, sternly.

“What would you have me answer?” replied Maxwell, doggedly.

“Did you forge the will by which my mistress is deprived of her rights?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

Maxwell hesitated, and Hatchie again pulled the rope till his face was crimson.

“Who forged the will?” repeated Hatchie, slackening the rope.

“I did not,” replied Maxwell, as soon as he could regain breath enough to speak.

“Who did?”

“I know not.”

[Illustration:  Hatchie forcing secrets from Maxwell.  Page 178]

Hatchie pulled the rope again.

“Your master—­”

“I have no master.  Miss Emily is my mistress.”

“I have been told his name was De Guy.”

“Who is De Guy?”

“A lawyer of New Orleans.”

“And what agency had you in the affair?”

“None whatever.”

“Then Mr. Dumont and De Guy are the only persons concerned in the transaction?”

“Yes.”

“You are positive?”

“Yes.”

“Then, how comes it, Mr. Maxwell, that they have intrusted you with their secret?  How came you by this knowledge?” said Hatchie, fiercely, as he prepared, apparently, to swing up the attorney.

Maxwell was staggered by this question, and Hatchie perceived his discomfiture.  That Maxwell had any agency in the transaction he only suspected; certainly it was not he whom he had seen with Jaspar on the night of his escape from Bellevue.  There was much evidence for and much against him.

Maxwell, unwilling to criminate himself, was in a sad dilemma; his ready wits alone could save him.  But his hesitation procured him another instant of suffocation.

“I obtained the knowledge from De Guy,” said he, at last.

“How! did he voluntarily betray the confidence of his employer?”

“No, from his inquiries concerning the affairs of the family, I suspected something; when the will was read my impressions were confirmed.  I charged him with the crime.”

“Did he acknowledge it?”

“He did.”

“Then why did you not expose the plot?”

“It did not suit my purpose.”