IXIN THE FORESTS OF THE NIGHT Geoffrey lay on the cot furthest from the stove in acute physical misery. He had not surrendered and his overpowering had been a grim business. He was lying in a far corner of the room on a string netting mattressed with the inevitable sacks and covered with a dirty Army blanket.
His mouth was no longer sealed. They had given that up when they thought he was suffocating, but they had taught him not to talk. His hands and feet were tied, each with the same cord, which was drawn up with agonising tightness behind him, and most of his clothes had been removed so that he was cold as well as cramped. The others were keeping well away from him.
By now the cellar was almost quiet. Even the dwarf had ceased his twittering at last, but there was whispering going on a
