Then the central chain, to which all the other thinner chains were fastened, would begin to tighten and move. Slowly, inch by inch, as if some one were turning a winch-handle outside the cell, the chain wound up into the roof. As it did so, the smaller chains, which were fixed to the steel bands upon his limbs, tightened also. Struggle as he might, the arrangements and balance of the weights were so perfect that in less than a minute he would be swinging clear of the bed, as helpless as a bale of goods at the end of a crane. Then the upward movement of the chain would stop, the door open with a clicking of its massive wards, and Guest would come in. In a moment more Gerald always found himself swung on to the long black couch. His neck was encircled by the collar of thick vulcanite, his head was bent upwards by means of an india-rubber pillow beneath it, his hands and feet were strapped to the framework of the couch. And finally Guest would take the metal cap and fix it firmly upon his head, pressed down to the very eyes so that he could in no way shake it off. The man would leave the cell, sometimes with a chuckle or a malicious sentence that seemed full of hidden meaning, sometimes in silence. And then the electric light invariably went out. Rathbone never knew how long he was forced to remain thus in the dark, the subject of some horrible experiment, at the nature of which he could only guess. The period seemed to vary, but there was no possible test of time. Long ago time had ceased to exist for him. Release would come at last, release, food and light--and so the dreadful silent days went on. "What are these devils doing to me?" The hollow voice of reverie and self-communing cut into the silence like a knife. "It must be that I am being made the victim of an awful revenge and hatred. Charliewood was the decoy and tool of Gouldesbrough; it was all planned from the first. Marjorie was never really relinquished by Gouldesbrough. He meant all along to get me out of the way, to get Marjorie back if he could. All this is clear enough. I thought I was dealing with an honourable gentleman, and a great man, too great to stoop even to anything petty or mean. I have been dealing with desperate and secret criminals, people who live hideous double lives, who walk the world and sit in high places and do unnameable evil in the dark. Yes! That is clear enough. Even now, perhaps, my darling is once more in the power of this monster Gouldesbrough!" The thin voice failed and died away into a tortured whimper. The tall form shook with agony and the rattle of the steel chains mingled with the "purr," "purr" of the electric fan in the roof. By a tremendous effort of will Rathbone clutched at his thoughts again. He wrenched his mind back from the memory of his dreadful plight to the solving of the mystery. Till he had some glimmering of the _meaning_ of what was being done to him, he was entirely hopeless and helpless.