“Then it was you who screamed?” “I dare say it was.” “It rang through the house. The servants are all terrified.” He struck a match and lit the lamp. “I think we may get the fire to burn up again,” he added, throwing some logs upon the embers. “Good God, my dear chap, how white you are! You look as if you had seen a ghost.” “So I have—several ghosts.” “The leather funnel has acted, then?” “I wouldn’t sleep near the infernal thing again for all the money you could offer me.” Dacre chuckled. “I expected that you would have a lively night of it,” said he. “You took it out of me in return, for that scream of yours wasn’t a very pleasant sound at two in the morning. I suppose from what you say that you have seen the whole dreadful business.” “What dreadful business?” “The torture of the water—the ‘Extraordinary Question,’ as it was called in the genial days of ‘Le Roi Soleil.’ Did you stand it out to the end?” “No, thank God, I awoke before it really began.” “Ah! it is just as well for you. I held out till the third bucket. Well, it is an old story, and they are all in their graves now anyhow, so what does it matter how they got there. I suppose that you have no idea what it was that you have seen?” “The torture of some criminal. She must have been a terrible malefactor indeed if her crimes are in proportion to her penalty.” “Well, we have that small consolation,” said Dacre, wrapping his dressing-gown round him and crouching closer to the fire. “They _were_ in proportion to her penalty. That is to say, if I am correct in the lady’s identity.” “How could you possibly know her identity?” For answer Dacre took down an old vellum-covered volume from the shelf. “Just listen to this,” said he; “it is in the French of the seventeenth century, but I will give a rough translation as I go. You will judge for yourself whether I have solved the riddle or not. “The prisoner was brought before the Grand Chambers and Tournelles of Parliament, sitting as a court of justice, charged with the murder of Master Dreux d’Aubray, her father, and of her two brothers, MM. d’Aubray, one being civil lieutenant, and the other a counsellor of Parliament. In person it seemed hard to believe that she had really done such wicked deeds, for she was of a mild appearance, and of short stature, with a fair skin and blue eyes. Yet the Court, having found her guilty, condemned her to the ordinary and to the extraordinary question in order that she might be forced to name her accomplices, after which she should be carried in a cart to the Place de Grève, there to have her head cut off, her body being afterwards burned and her ashes scattered to the winds.” The date of this entry is July 16, 1676.” “It is interesting,” said I, “but not convincing. How do you prove the two women to be the same?”