only, is constrained to utter a few little shrieks of alarm.

Then it is over.

Doctor Chicago, breathing hard and looking his dogged defiance, stands
there in the hands of his captors.

"Do you change your mind, John Craig?" asks the woman, fastening her
burning gaze upon his face.

"I have too much Scotch blood in me for that. On the contrary, I am
more than ever determined to pursue my mission without any outside
assistance," he answers.

"Take him away!" she cries, and the look that crosses her face can only
be likened to the black clouds preceding the hurricane.

John struggles no longer, for he realizes that he is safer out of her
sight than in it.

They take him through a door-way and the last he hears from the
beautiful tigress is her taunting cry of:

"We will break this proud spirit of yours, John Craig--what you scorn
now you will beg for after awhile, when it is too late!"

He wonders whether this is a prophecy.

The men hurry him along a narrow hall, for many of these Maltese houses
are built in a queer way, nor do they treat him with consideration, but