“Good morning to you, Professor,” said Ramiro. “Here are two subjects for your gentle art. You will begin upon the big one, and from time to time report progress, and be sure, if he becomes willing to reveal what I want to know—never mind what it is, that is my affair—come to summon me at once.” “What methods does your Excellency wish employed?” “Man, I leave that to you. Am I a master of your filthy trade? Any method, provided it is effective.” “I don’t like the look of him,” grumbled the Professor, gnawing at his short nails. “I have heard about this mad brute; he is capable of anything.” “Then take the whole guard with you; one naked wretch can’t do much against eight armed men. And, listen; take the young gentleman also, and let him see what goes on; the experience may modify his views, but don’t touch him without telling me. I have reports to write, and shall stop here.” “I don’t like the look of him,” repeated the Professor. “I say that he makes me feel cold down the back—he has the evil eye; I’d rather begin with the young one.” “Begone and do what I tell you,” said Ramiro, glaring at him fiercely. “Guard, attend upon the executioner Baptiste.” “Bring them along,” grumbled the Professor. “No need for violence, worthy sir,” muttered Martin; “show the way and we follow,” and stooping down he lifted Foy from his chair. Then the procession started. First went Baptiste and four soldiers, next came Martin bearing Foy, and after them four more soldiers. They passed out of the courtroom into the passage beneath the archway. Martin, shuffling along slowly, glanced down it and saw that on the wall, among some other weapons, hung his own sword, Silence. The big doors were locked and barred, but at the wicket by the side of them stood a sentry, whose office it was to let people in and out upon their lawful business. Making pretence to shift Foy in his arms, Martin scanned this wicket as narrowly as time would allow, and observed that it seemed to be secured by means of iron bolts at the top and the bottom, but that it was not locked, since the socket into which the tongue went was empty. Doubtless, while he was on guard there, the porter did not think it necessary to go to the pains of using the great key that hung at his girdle.