The make-shift cell had all the illusions of luxury. It was a spacious room, and if Pendergast had not been shackled at his wrists and ankles, it would have seemed a lovely place.

He was chained to a handsome mahogany bed, wearing a black silk dressing robe. His body was clean, but he had no recollection of how it had gotten that way.

The last thing he remembered was finally losing consciousness after a long struggle in Fosco’s make-shift grave. Someone had saved him, only to imprison him again. It was all very perplexing.

Pendergast tested the strength of his shackles. All of his lock-picking instruments had been unsurprisingly removed from his person, and even his thin wrists were tightly bound by this pair.

On further inspection of his surroundings, the only thing he noticed about the room was how conspicuously bare it was. There were two doors, one presumably leading to a restroom and the other leading out. No paintings adorned the scarlet colored walls, and the gleaming wooden floor was empty except for his bed.

Suddenly, one of the doors opened. Two people stepped through into his room. Pendergast felt every muscle in his body clench with shock at the sight of...   read more »