rushed into the room, but there was no sign of any desperate villain;
instead, we found the room had been fashioned into a small museum, 
and the walls were lined by a number of glass-topped cases full of a
collection of butterflies & moths. In the centre of the room there 
was an upright beam. To this post a figure was tied, so swathed & 
muffled in sheets used to secure it that one could not tell whether 
it was a man or woman. One towel passed around the throat and was 
secured at the back of the pillar. Another covered the lower part of 
the face, and over it two eyes full of a dreadful questioning stared 
back at us. We tore of the gag, unswathed the bonds, and the prisoner 
sank to the floor. There was the clear red weal of a whiplash across 
the neck.
When we had told the prisoner that the hound was dead, we learnt 
