“No,” he returned, drawing himself up, “I will not show ye the secret of the fire-weapons. Do with me as thou wilt.” “So,” snarled the priest, “ye defy me. Bolder wills than thine have I overcome. ’Tis an evil moment for ye when ye cross Nordhu.” He bent his piercing eyes upon Mervyn, and his look seemed to sear the scientist’s very soul. With all the force of his brain Mervyn struggled against that fascinating gaze. It was a contest of wills. Could the priest but succeed in bending his prisoner’s will to his this once, hereafter the unfortunate man would be as clay in the hands of the potter. Knowing this, Mervyn fought on, although the desire to submit grew almost overpowering. Never before had he taken part in so fierce a struggle. His eyes seemed starting from his head beneath the strain, and still the merciless ones of his enemy glared into his brain. Then, when he was almost upon the point of yielding, the gaze of the priest changed to a look of baffled fury. “So ye resist the supremacy of my will,” he hissed. “So be it; I have other methods. But mark this: if thou wilt not yield me this secret, upon which I have set my heart, I will make thee wish that thou had’st never been born.” “Do your worst,” returned Mervyn doggedly. “Rather would I be torn limb from limb than reveal to you the secret of our weapons.” A sneering laugh broke from the priest. “Dragged limb from limb, sayest thou?” he cried. “That were an easy death to the one I will give thee if thou wilt not obey me.” Once more he clapped his hands, and the two savages reappeared. “Bring him forth,” he commanded, and the wolf-men, their faces aglow with diabolical cruelty, hustled Mervyn out of the cell. Following the priest, a guard on either side of him, the scientist moved down the passage on to which the door of the cell gave access. It was apparently a natural tunnel in the rock, rough-hewn in places where it had been too narrow to admit of the passage of the savages. From it, on either side, opened galleries, which seemed to run deep into the bowels of the earth. Up these openings, as captive and captors passed them, came strange sounds, boomings and clangings, as of a mighty forge, and at times a lurid glow would flash up for an instant, then die away again. Past all these openings the priest went, pausing at length before the open doorway of a rock chamber. “Enter,” he commanded, and, realising the futility of resistance, the scientist obeyed. The light of the priest’s stone illumined every corner of the chamber. A rough rectangle it was in shape, about twenty feet by twelve. Across the floor, parallel with, and about a couple of feet from, the doorway, ran a strange crack, not more than three inches in width at its widest part. Over this Mervyn stepped, then turned and faced his captors.