Hunch," he added carelessly to the admiring henchman who had once dealt away successive slices of his inheritance, "go get a pitcher of ice water and rustle up another siphon of seltzer and some whiskey.

Likely His Nibs and I will play chess again to-night." Hunch rose from a chair by the window where he had flattened his single good eye against a knot hole, and slouched heavily to the door.
The face of the prisoner slowly whitened.

Every muscle of his body quivered suddenly in horrible revulsion.

Nights of enforced drunkenness had left his nerves strained to the breaking point.
"Monsieur," he panted, greatly agitated, "the whiskey--the thought of it again to-night--is maddening." Carl merely raised ironical eyebrows.
"You are not a man," choked the other, shaking.

"You are a nameless demon! Such hellish originality in the conception of evil, such singular indignities as you have seen fit to inflict, they are the freaks of a madman!" "Thank you," said Carl politely.