Nearer came the footsteps and nearer.  I could hear suppressed sobs.  The door opened, admitting again the faint light—­and Karamaneh came in.  The place was quite unfurnished, offering no possibility of hiding; but to hide was unnecessary.

Her slim figure had not crossed the threshold ere Smith had his arm about the girl’s waist and one hand clapped to her mouth.  A stifled gasp she uttered, and he lifted her into the room.

I stepped forward and closed the door.  A faint perfume stole to my nostrils—­a vague, elusive breath of the East, reminiscent of strange days that, now, seemed to belong to a remote past.  Karamaneh! that faint, indefinable perfume was part of her dainty personality; it may appear absurd—­impossible—­but many and many a time I had dreamt of it.

“In my breast pocket,” rapped Smith; “the light.”

I bent over the girl as he held her.  She was quite still, but I could have wished that I had had more certain mastery of myself.  I took the torch from Smith’s pocket, and, mechanically, directed it upon the captive.

She was dressed very plainly, wearing a simple blue skirt, and white blouse.  It was easy to divine that it was she whom Eltham had mistaken for a French maid.  A brooch set with a ruby was pinned at the point where the blouse opened—­gleaming fierily and harshly against the soft skin.  Her face was pale and her eyes wide with fear.

“There is some cord in my right-hand pocket,” said Smith; “I came provided.  Tie her wrists.”

I obeyed him, silently.  The girl offered no resistance, but I think I never essayed a less congenial task than that of binding her white wrists.  The jeweled fingers lay quite listlessly in my own.

“Make a good job of it!” rapped Smith, significantly.

A flush rose to my cheeks, for I knew well enough what he meant.

“She is fastened,” I said, and I turned the ray of the torch upon her again.

Smith removed his hand from her mouth but did not relax his grip of her.  She looked up at me with eyes in which I could have sworn there was no recognition.  But a flush momentarily swept over her face, and left it pale again.

“We shall have to—­gag her—­”

“Smith, I can’t do it!”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears and she looked up at my companion pitifully.

“Please don’t be cruel to me,” she whispered, with that soft accent which always played havoc with my composure.  “Every one—­every one-is cruel to me.  I will promise—­indeed I will swear, to be quiet.  Oh, believe me, if you can save him I will do nothing to hinder you.”  Her beautiful head drooped.  “Have some pity for me as well.”

“Karamaneh” I said.  “We would have believed you once.  We cannot, now.”

She started violently.

“You know my name!” Her voice was barely audible.  “Yet I have never seen you in my life—­”

“See if the door locks,” interrupted Smith harshly.