After
the second day few questions were asked by the men who had originally
set themselves up as inquisitors. At first they had treated him with a
harshness that promised something worse, but an incident occurred on the
evening of the second day that changed the whole course of their
intentions.
Peter Brutus had just voiced the pleasure of the majority by urging the
necessity for physical torture to wring the government's secrets from
the prisoner. King, half famished, half crazed by thirst, had been
listening to the fierce argument through the thin door that separated
the rooms. He heard the sudden, eager movement toward the door of his
cell, and squared himself against the opposite wall, ready to fight to
the death. Then there came a voice that he recognised.
A woman was addressing the rabid conspirators in tones of deadly
earnestness. His heart gave a bound. It was the first time since his
incarceration that he had heard the voice of Olga Platanova, she who had
warned him, she who still must be his friend. Once more he threw himself
to the floor and glued his ear to the crack; her voice had not the
strident qualities of the other women in this lovely company.
"You are not to do this thing," she was saying. King knew that she stood
between her companions and the door.
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