"coffinfortheavenger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tepperman Emile C)

one notch. Continue to tighten it one notch each hour for the rest of the night!"

Forsythe's face whitened as he heard the order.

"You're a devil!" he gasped.

Strake nodded his big, oversized bald head. His eyes were bright and cruel. "You under-
stand what will happen, don't you, Forsythe? Each notch is about a quarter of an inch. By
morning your strait jacket will have been tightened by almost three inches. Your ribs will
be constricted to the edge of the breaking point. You will barely have room to take enough
breath into your body to support life. Your heart will pump faster and faster, but not
strongly enough to propel the blood to your extremities. Your hands and feet will become
numb first. Then your legs and arms. You will be able to watch yourself die by inches, so
to speak. There will be a fiery pressure in your chest. You will be fighting, every moment,
for breath."

He paused and smiled a terrible. twisted smile. "At nine o'clock in the morning I will
return and sit here at the desk, and watch you fight for your life. It will be a losing
fight, Forsythe. Believe me, I know. I have sat here and watched many a man like that. Not
one has refused to talk. They have begged for one thing, only--a quick death. You, too,
will beg for that, Forsythe!"

"Damn you." the inventor whispered. "Damn you down to the lowest cellar of hell! You
can't get away with this. Something will happen. Something unforeseen. Something you've
overlooked. Something you didn't plan on. God won't let you get away with it!"

Strake's cruel eyes flickered. It was almost as if he winced at the mention oE the
Deity. Almost, in that fleeting instant, it seemed to the bound and desperate prisoner
that he was looking at the Prince of Darkness himself--and that the name of God had caused
Satan to squirm.

But Strake turned away from him to the desk, hiding that look in his face. He picked
the black tulip out of the water glass and raised it to his nostrils. He looked at the
prisoner in the chair and spoke slowly.

"They call me The Black Tulip, Forsythe. And they say that The Black Tulip has never
failed. It is true. And it is true because I overlook nothing. Nothing unforeseen can
happen, Forsythe. I have planned well and I have taken everything into consideration. That
is why I always succeed. With me there is no such thing as the unforeseen circumstance.
You will beg to talk tomorrow. I have said it. It is a certainty."

He turned and walked out of the room on his queer, ungainly legs.

And Lambertini stepped behind Forsythe's chair, undid the laces, and tightened the
strait jacket one notch.


CHAPTER III.
EMMA GETS HELP.