her when the cloth had been removed from about her head.

White was her face indeed, but a little smile twisted the corner of her
mouth as she noted the oriental luxury of the room in which she stood.

Ornate could hardly describe it so offensive was it in its
multitudinous hangings, mirrors, lamps, and clutter of stools, tables,
divans, and couches, inlaid or plastered with glittering sequins, bits
of glass, and coloured imitation jewels.

But scorn simply blazed in the great blue eyes as she looked into those
of a man standing in front of the one and only door to the whole
apartment.

"You brute!" she said undiplomatically and in French as he moved a few
steps nearer and salaamed deeply. "Why, you're the man who followed me
from the restaurant to-day! What do you want? Backsheesh? I haven't
any so you had better let me go at once unless you want the police
after you! You can't treat English women in this off-hand way with
impunity, I can assure you. Open the door immediately if you please!"

Poor little Jill, who by involuntarily harking back to the insular
belief that the veriest heathen will quake in unison with the British
culprit at the mere threat of British law, showed the absolute
yarborough she held in this game, the stakes of which she guessed were
something more precious than life itself, and in which she held not a
single winning card.

"Let not Madame cause herself worry," answered the oriental also in
French, as he approached nearer still, his eyes ablaze with passion of