“Bravo!” said Merda, who accompanied his statement with hand-clapping. He was addressing Lash. “I admire your definition of small men, sir!”

That brought a laugh even from Lioness. The music had stopped. Matthew didn’t wish to watch, but he could hear the chains rattle as the body was being taken down by the three men who had trussed the constable up.

“Your Excellency!” It was Lash speaking. “Is the baron not one to enjoy such entertainment?”

Matthew looked toward the vice admiral and saw that the Owl had leaned over to whisper in the man’s ear; he made a presumption that ‘the baron’ had been noticed averting his eyes from the bloodshed.

“Not at all!” Julian replied, with the nudge of an elbow into Matthew’s ribs. “He, like I, am in amazement at the lady’s prowess. It seems to both of us that she should be a member of the profession. As long as she stays out of Prussia, I might add.”

Lash shouted a laugh at what was to Matthew an odious witticism, but neither the Owl nor Cardinal Black allowed a smile to cross their faces. Both of them were staring daggers at Matthew, who gave them a nod of the head and then forced himself to gaze upon the result of the carnage below.

The dead constable had been dragged aside and left lying. The men who had taken him down were gone, the pit’s door still open. RakeHell Lizzie was stretched out on her back in the dirt, her eyes closed in whatever state of repose she could find … which meant to Matthew that this spectacle was not yet ended.

Suddenly another naked man was dragged in through the doorway, struggling against his three escorts but obviously weakened from having been beaten about the face.

It took Matthew a few seconds to recognize who it was. When he did he gave a gasp, his body involuntarily shuddered and his first impulse was to leap to his feet, but again Julian’s iron hand gripped Matthew’s arm to hold him in his place.

“Steady,” Julian whispered. And then: “You know this man?”

“Ja,” Matthew answered, dazed. He cast off the pretend language. “Yes.”

Down in the blood-stained pit, the men were chaining up Dippen Nack.

“God save me, I never did a thing again’ ya,” Nack was blubbering through a mouth swollen by the impact of hard knuckles. The ruddy-faced little bully’s right eye was completely closed and a goose-egg of a knot adorned his forehead. “Never a thing, I swear to Christ!” he said, and when he broke into a sob the mucus ran from his nostrils down onto his white and hairless chest.

“Make him beg!” Victor called out. “That first one went too easily!”