The prisoner moistened his bloodless lips and shrugged.

“Monsieur,” he accused coldly, “you tinge commonplace incidents with melodrama.”

“Days ago—­er—­Jokai of Vienna,” went on Carl thoughtfully, “I dispatched a formal communication to your country.  Why has it been ignored?  Why did my first inkling of its effect come in the sight of your face in suspicious territory?  And why, Monsieur,” purred Carl softly, “did you seek to kill me by a trick?”

“Monsieur, you delayed me.  I am hot of temper—­”

“And kill whoever angers you?  My dear Jokai, that’s absurd.  As for your singular indifference to the burning car—­that’s easy.  You’d stolen it.  But why?”

He smiled slightly and picked up his flute.  With infinite softness a waltz danced lightly through the quiet room.  To such a fanciful, eerie piping might the ghost of a child have danced.  Then without pause or warning it swung dramatically into a stirring melody of power and dignity.

The wretched man by the table buried his face in his hands and groaned.

“Ah!” said Carl softly.  “So Monsieur has heard that tune before?  That in itself is illuminating.”

With a leer Hunch entered and deposited a tray upon the table.  Carl poured himself some whiskey and pushed the decanter toward his guest with a significant glance.  Jokai of Vienna poured and drank with a shudder of nausea.

“We’ve a new chessboard,” said Carl.  “It’s most ingenious.  Hunch spent a large part of his valuable morning shopping for it.  The board and chessmen are metal and I myself have added one or two unique improvements.  Help yourself to some more whiskey—­do.”

“Monsieur,” faltered Jokai desperately, “I—­I can not.”

“Hunch,” said Carl softly.  “His Nibs won’t drink.”

Instantly from the wired metal points of Jokai’s chair a stinging electric current swept fiendishly through his body.  Last night it had goaded him unspeakably.  To-night, with every tortured nerve leaping, it was unbearable.  Shaking, he poured again and drank—­great drops of sweat starting out upon his forehead.  Where the rope bound his ankles the flesh was aching dully.

“Mercy!” he choked.  “I—­I can not bear it.”

“There is a way to stop it!” reminded Carl curtly.  “The ivory chessmen for me, Hunch.  And whenever he refuses to drink—­start the current.”

With the metal chessboard before him, Carl idly arranged his ivory men.  Jokai touched a metal pawn and shuddered violently.  The metal board was wired.  Thenceforth every move in the game he must play with the metal men would complete the circuit and send the biting needles through his frame.  It was delicately gauged, a nerve-racking discomfort without definite pain, a thing to snap the dreadful tension of a man’s endurance at the end.

“Ah!  Monsieur!” cried Jokai wildly.  “It is inconceivable—­”