Practice to Deceive Read Online Free PDF

case she would have no recourse but to run away. But—to whom? And where…!
    She came at last to the door of the room which Delavale had caused to be converted to a private study. Her knock was drowned by an outburst of profanity from within. Seething, she tried the handle, but the door was locked. Well, she would not be put off! She must speak to him before Otton beguiled Sybil into speaking for him, for if that happened, her own cause was doomed! She hurried to her aunt’s bedroom. It was unlocked, and in another minute she stood at the connecting door and, not taking the chance that admission would be denied, flung it open, only to halt, stunned, all thought of her own predicament banished from her mind.
    A man lay sprawled on the long sofa beside the hearth. A man of tattered and dishevelled appearance, his clothes in rags, his dark hair a tangled untidiness, his face bloodied and covered with a stubble of beard. Lord Delavale stood behind the sofa, both hands resting on the back as he blinked down on the recumbent figure through the curling smoke of a fat cigar. His bosom bow, that hulking lout Thomas Beasley, was sitting on the edge of the sofa, a dripping rag clutched in one beefy hand. All this Penelope saw in a brief second, even as a half-smothered moan rang out, a sound so tormented that it made her blood run cold. For one bewildered moment she thought the two men were ministering to the sufferer. Then, Beasley cried a triumphant, “There, Joseph! Did I not tell you I could bring him around again?”
    â€œAnd about time,” grunted his lordship, his cunning little eyes glinting in his pudgy face. “Come now, Major. This is most unnecessary. Why put yourself through it? You’ll tell us what we want to know, eventually. All we ask is that—”
    â€œThat I … put the head of my … my friends on the block. Alongside mine … own, eh?”
    Those words of intrepid defiance were spoken in a feeble voice that caused Penelope’s heart to give a violent lurch, and so deepened her shock that she stood as though rooted to the spot, quite powerless to move or speak.
    The man on the sofa struggled to sit up, an effort facilitated by Delavale, who reached down to grab the ragged shirt and wrench his victim upwards. With all the bluster of the weak man suddenly given absolute power, he snarled, “Would you prefer that we hand you over to the military? They’ll be less patient with a damned traitorous Jacobite than we have been, I can tell you! And there are implements in the Tower guaranteed to wring truth from vermin such as you in jig time!”
    The prisoner’s right arm hung limply at his side, the sleeve torn and stained a dull red between shoulder and elbow. He seemed far spent, but answered jeeringly, “Then—why delay? Hand me … over, and be damned to—” But the words were cut off by a gasp as Beasley seized his disabled wrist, jerking it roughly.
    â€œThis arm should have a surgeon’s care, my friend. We’ve none at hand, alas, so I shall try to do my best for you. Poor fellow … I’ve had no experience. How do you suggest I begin, Delavale?”
    His lordship flung the injured man down and watched without compassion as he writhed in silent agony. “For Christ’s sake, Chandler! Why be such a fool? I’d not have Beasley minister to me, especially were my arm in such condition! Only tell us where the gold is hid and we’ll get you safe to France. I’ll even summon my own surgeon to treat you, for to say truth, I am of a gentle disposition and in great distress to see you in such sorry case.”
    Chandler laughed weakly.
    Delavale’s hands clenched, and the high colour in his cheeks rose dangerously. It was with an obvious effort of will that he held his temper and went on in a cajoling tone, “If ’tis your friends you fear for, they’ll not be harmed, I swear