“ ‘Oh, come, you know you enjoy it as much as I do,’ said the elderly one. His voice was deep. ‘Why else would you be here now? You knew she had this boy.’

“ ‘All I ask is to be released,’ I said sharply. ‘I can’t send the authorities after you because I don’t know who you are, and as for Petronia, all attempts in the past by me to have her discovered or arrested have failed, and they’ll fail in the future. I won’t attempt any such thing. What I ask is to be let go!’

“The black man rose from his armchair and he came towards me. He was the taller of the two. I didn’t stand up to measure my height against his. He reached through the bars and laid his cool hand on my head. He looked into my eyes. I hated him. It took all my self-control to remain still.

“ ‘You’ve done no wrong to anyone,’ he said under his breath, as though he had read it from my mind. ‘And across the world she brings you for her blood sport.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, Petronia, why the cruelty, always the cruelty? Why, my beautiful pupil? When will you ever learn?’

“ ‘You’ll let me go?’ I asked. I looked up at him. What a splendid being he was. His features were sublimely chiseled and his face looked kind.

“ ‘I can’t do that, my child,’ he said in an even voice. ‘I wish that I could, but I believe your fate is decided. I’ll try to make your agony short.’

“ ‘Why does my life mean so little to you?’ I asked. ‘I come from a world where every life is precious. Why is it so different for you?’

“The old man had approached by this time, walking in a sprightly manner completely out of keeping with the appearances of age in him, and he was peering through the bars at me too.

“ ‘No, you’re not innocent, don’t tell us that,’ he chortled. ‘You’re the Evil Doer in some guise,’ he protested. ‘She wouldn’t bring you here otherwise. I know her too well.’

“ ‘Not well enough,’ said the coal black one. ‘She does what she pleases and it’s never enough for her.’

“I stared at the old man. ‘The old man,’ I said aloud, and then I realized it. ‘The Old Man,’ I said again. ‘It’s you. The portrait on the living room wall! It’s Manfred Blackwood, that’s who you are.’

“ ‘And who are you to say my name so boldly to me?’ he demanded. He puffed himself up.