"A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. He did not stagger in the least. When the prisoner was brought into this room, he was again questioned; but, continuing contumacious, preparations were made for inflicting the torture. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead.
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