very thoroughly, for there must be no possibility of failure; and at the
end of several weeks he had become so expert with his six-shooter that
at a distance of 25 feet, which was the greatest length of the Manager's
room, he could pick the inside out of a halfpenny nine times out of a
dozen, and leave a clean, unbroken rim.

There was not the slightest desire to delay. He had thought the matter
over from every point of view his mind could reach, and his purpose was
inflexible. Indeed, he felt proud to think that he had been chosen as
the instrument of justice in the infliction of so well-deserved and so
terrible a punishment. Vengeance may have had some part in his decision,
but he could not help that, for he still felt at times the hot chains
burning his wrists and ankles with fierce agony through to the bone.
He remembered the hideous pain of his slowly roasting back, and the
point when he thought death _must_ intervene to end his suffering, but
instead new powers of endurance had surged up in him, and awful further
stretches of pain had opened up, and unconsciousness seemed farther off
than ever. Then at last the hot irons in his eyes.... It all came back
to him, and caused him to break out in icy perspiration at the mere
thought of it ... the vile face at the panel ... the expression of the
dark face.... His fingers worked. His blood boiled. It was utterly
impossible to keep the idea of vengeance altogether out of his mind.

Several times he was temporarily baulked of his prey. Odd things
happened to stop him when he was on the point of action. The first day,
for instance, the Manager fainted from the heat. Another time when he
had decided to do the deed, the Manager did not come down to the office
at all. And a third time, when his hand was actually in his hip pocket,
he suddenly heard Thorpe's horrid whisper telling him to wait, and
turning, he saw that the head cashier had entered the room noiselessly