“We have no time for such tender feelings,” snapped Isaac Coffran. “These four coffins that you see before you were prepared for your bodies. Since we are missing Miss Cranston and two others, you and your chauffeur will have to fill them. Now I offer you a stark choice: climb into your own coffins, after which I will mercifully snuff out your lives, or, if you prefer, my men will simply shoot you where you stand and hurl your bleeding bodies into the flames.” A short silence followed that cold threat. Then, from out of nowhere, yet seemingly everywhere, sardonic laughter rippled out.
