“Hulloa,” called a voice, “I’m Hamar.  Haven’t you had about enough of it?  Remember, you’ve only to say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Tell him I’ll do nothing of the sort,” John Martin said, “that he’ll never get the better of me this way.”

Miss Templeton gave the message, and Hamar replied “Wait!  Wait and see!”

He then thrust wool, pins, horsenails, straw, needles and moss into the mouth of the image, and John Martin had such frightful pains in his stomach that he went into convulsions; and, after an emetic had been given him, vomited up all the above-named articles, save the pins and needles which worked their way out through his flesh, causing him the most exquisite tortures.

Gladys, having given up going to the theatre in order to be with her father during these attacks, now declared that she could no longer bear to see him in such excruciating pain, whilst it was in her power to prevent it.

“Tell him,” she said, “tell Hamar you’ll accept his conditions.  Don’t think of me!  I would rather do anything than see you suffer like this.”

“I can hold out a bit longer,” he groaned, “at any rate I needn’t give in yet.”

Every now and then there came a respite—­perhaps for several hours, perhaps for several days—­then the tortures recommenced.  And always John Martin steeled himself to bear them.  At last came the climax.

Hamar, infuriated that his efforts, so far, had proved fruitless, resolved, since time was pressing, to play his trump card and either win, or lose all.  He rang up Gladys on the telephone.

“My patience is exhausted,” he said.  “I’ll give you one more chance, and one—­only.  Agree to be engaged to me at once—­or I’ll smite your father with the most virulent form of cancer, and leave him to die.”

There was no question now in Gladys’s mind as to what she should do.  Of all things in the world, she dreaded cancer most, and after the many evidences Hamar had given her of his skill in Black Magic, she did not doubt for one instant that he could, immediately he chose, carry out his threat.

“I have decided,” she said faintly, “to—­to—­give in.”

“You accept me, then?” Hamar said.

“Y-yes!”

“When may I see you?”

“When you like.”

“Then I’ll come at once,” Hamar replied. “Au revoir.”

But Hamar, when he arrived at the Cottage, did not realize any of the gleeful anticipations he had indulged in en route.  Gladys was ill—­so Miss Templeton informed him—­at the same time begging him, if he really had any regard for Miss Martin, not to ask to see her for the next few days; and to this request Hamar, seeing no alternative, was obliged to assent.

Shortly after he had gone, Shiel Davenport called, and found Gladys alone in the garden.

“I’ve been told that your father is ill,” he said, “and should like to hear better news of him.  How is he?”