One of the features of the interview that struck William later on was this—during all the long minutes that it lasted Griselda had spoken no words. For once the tumult and amazement of her soul was beyond her glib power of expression and it was only as they came into the open air that—for the first time since she had seen the hostages die—she unclosed her lips and spoke. "What are they going to do with us?" she asked. Her voice was husky and uncertain, and the words came out in little jerks. William gave the question no answer: for one thing because his ignorance of their destiny was as thorough as his wife’s; for another because speech, by reason of Heinz’s firm grip on his collar, was so difficult as to be almost impossible. The man had his knuckles thrust tightly between shirt and skin; William purpled and gasped as he trotted down the street with a collar stud pressing on his windpipe. Behind him when he started came Griselda and her guard; as he could not twist his head to look over his shoulder he had no suspicion that the couples had parted company, and it was not until his captor turned him sharply to the right down a by-road leading to the station that he discovered, in rounding the corner, that his wife and her escort were no longer following in his footsteps. The momentary sidelong glimpse he caught of the road gave him never a sight of Griselda; she had vanished without word or sign. For a moment he could hardly believe it and walked on stupidly in silence; then, the stupor passing, his terror found voice and he clamoured. "Where’s my wife?" he cried out and writhed instinctively to free himself. His reward was a tightening of the German’s strangle-hold, some most hearty abuse and some even heartier kicks. Under the punishment he lost his foothold and would have fallen but for Heinz’s clutch upon his collar; when the punishment was over he was brought up trembling and choking. In that moment he suffered the fiercest of torments, the fire of an ineffectual hate. He hated Heinz and could have torn him; but he had been taught the folly of blind wrestling with the stronger and, for Griselda’s sake, he swallowed his fury and cringed. "Where is she?" he begged most humbly and pitifully as Heinz thrust him forward again. "For mercy’s sake tell me what you have done with my wife—with my wife? ... If you will only let me know where she is? That’s all—just to let me know."