"You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond," he said, "for it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Our friend Bellward now assumes the direction of affairs. I don't think you can realize what you are letting yourself in for. You appear to have been dabbling in Intelligence work. Perhaps it would interest you to hear something about this, our latest German method for extracting Accurate information from reluctant or untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps you would enlighten him."Bellward smiled grimly.
"It is a blend," he explained glibly, "of that extreme form of cross-examination which the Americans call 'the third degree' and hypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are less responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensified course of the third degree and lack of sleep renders such refractory natures extraordinarily susceptible to mesmeric treatment. It prepares the ground as it were!"Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shell spectacles which he had put on again.
"The method has had its best results when practised on women," he resumed. "Our people in Holland have found it very successful in the case of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier.
But some women--Miss Barbara, for example--seem to have greater powers of resistance than others. We had to employ a rather drastic form of the third degree for her, didn't we, Strangwise?"He laughed waggishly.
"And you'll be none too easy either," he added.
"You beasts," cried Desmond, "but just you wait, your turn will come!""Yours first, however," chuckled Bellward. "I rather fancy you will think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my young friend!"Then he turned to Strangwise.
"Where's Minna?" he asked.
"With the girl."
"Is the girl sleeping?"
Strangwise nodded.
"She wanted it," he replied, "no sleep for four days... I tell you it takes some constitution to hold out against that!""Well," said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together, "as we're not likely to be disturbed, I think we'll make a start!"He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and foot, in his chair. Bellward's eyes were large and luminous, and as Desmond glanced rather nervously at the face of the man approaching him, he was struck by the compelling power they seemed to emit.
Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a couple of quick strides Bellward was at his side and stooping down, had thrust his face right into his victim's. Bellward's face was so close that Desmond felt his warm breath on his cheek whilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through his closed eyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze.
Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer ideas were racing through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes, scenes from his regimental life in India, memories of the front, which he had deliberately summoned up to keep his attention distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lights pitilessly playing on his face.
Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced his face up until his eyes came level with the other's. But he offered no violence of any kind. He remained in his stooping position, his face thrust forward, so perfectly still that Desmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid peep just to see what the mesmerist was doing.
He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told himself. But the desire increased, intensified by the strong attraction radiating from Bellward, and finally Desmond succumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellward and found the other's staring eyes, with pupils distended, fixed on his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to avert his gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast.
With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence which was slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed, he shouted defiance at Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches of songs. But Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to be in a kind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so unswerving his stare.
The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward's eyeballs gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the room. Desmond felt himself longing for some violent shock that would disturb the hideous stillness of the house. His own voice was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the use of struggling further? He might as well give up...
A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the house. The room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his senses and at the same time the chain binding him to Bellward snapped. For Bellward started and raised his head and Strangwise sprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open, there was the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, and Bellward crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. As Desmond had his back to the door he could see nothing of what was taking place, but some kind of violent struggle was going on; for he heard the smash of glass as a piece of furniture was upset.
Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding his hands and feet fell to the ground. "Buzzer" Barling stood at his side.