Shadow of Doom

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Book: Read Shadow of Doom for Free Online
Authors: John Creasey
Tags: adventure
for an hour. He must have said a great deal in that time.’
    â€˜Don’t be an ass,’ said Charles, surprising himself with his daring. ‘I can talk nonsense for a whole evening. Palfrey asked a lot of questions, where I’d been, what I’d been doing lately, and rather hinted that he thought I might like a spot of fun. That’s all.’
    He hoped it sounded convincing.
    Then one of the men by his side turned quickly and, without warning, kicked him viciously on the shins. The pain was intense; Charles gasped and staggered into the other man, who struck him across the face and sent him reeling back again. Fear rose up in him like a raging sea, and he felt sick with it and with pain.
    Â 

Chapter Six
Ordeal for Charles Lumsden
    Â 
    The pain receded, but the fear did not.
    The man at the desk said: ‘I don’t believe you, Lumsden, and I will give you one more chance. Palfrey wanted you to join him in an expedition. Where is it to?’
    â€˜He didn’t say anything about an expedition,’ said Lumsden, in a quavering voice. ‘It’s no use pretending that he did, he didn’t; I—no! No!’ he screamed, for the men closed on him from either side.
    They gave him no rest.
    The ordeal lasted for no more than five minutes, but to Charles it seemed like hours. He hardly knew where they hit him, whether it was with their fists or with weapons; he felt pain in his arms, in his head, in his legs, his chest, his stomach.
    At last it stopped.
    He was not standing when they had finished, but was on his knees in front of the desk, clutching it, looking up into that hideous, blank black mask, sobbing, hardly aware of any particular pain. There was pain everywhere about his body, he was parched, he felt his tongue swollen against his teeth, he could not get to his feet when he tried. He did not know what he looked like; he could feel that his hair had fallen over his eyes, but could not find the strength to brush it aside. The only sound in the room was that of his heavy breathing.
    His questioner said, quite calmly:
    â€˜Where did Palfrey ask you to go, Lumsden?’
    Charles clenched his hands, tried to get up, sank down on his knees again.
    â€˜Tell me,’ said the man at the desk, and the voice was soft and yet menacing. ‘You will really get hurt if you lie to me again.’
    Charles said, ‘He didn’t—he didn’t—he didn’t mention any place!’
    He expected the men to attack him again, but they did not. He could not see them now, except when he turned his head. The pause which followed gave him a little more confidence. With a great effort he got to his feet and rested his hands on the desk, supporting himself with his wrists. He was near enough to the black mask to snatch it off –
    â€˜To snatch it off, to snatch it off!’ The words were like a refrain in his mind. If he stretched out his hand he could snatch it off, snatch it off.
    â€˜I will give you one more chance,’ repeated the man. ‘Palfrey put a proposition to you. He told you where he was thinking of going. Tell me about it.’
    â€˜There—there isn’t anything to tell!’ cried Charles.
    They set upon him again …
    He was a helpless, hopeless wreck when they had finished, but he was no longer afraid: it was impossible to be afraid because he could not feel more pain than he already did. There was only one emotion in his mind – anger. Blazing anger against them, hatred which was a little short of madness. He was on his knees again, with his head bowed, he was clenching his teeth to prevent himself from crying out. There were tears in his eyes: he could hardly see out of them, but he kept them open and kept looking at that mask. If only he could tear it off!
    â€˜Now come along, Lumsden,’ said the man.
    Lumsden said nothing. He doubted whether he could have uttered words even had he tried. He made no attempt to get up.

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