“You’re dead sure you know all that was going on in that palace?” he demanded.  “There wasn’t any American girl coaxed into it on some pretext?”

He wanted merely the reassurance of her answer, but to his surprise and growing alarm she hesitated, looking at him half fearfully and half ashamedly.  “Oh, I—­I don’t know about that,” she murmured, with evasive eyes.  “An American girl—­very light hair—­yes?”

“Very light hair—­Oh, good God!” He leaned forward, gripping her wrist as if afraid she would spring out of the carriage.  “You said she wasn’t there,” he thrust at her in a voice that rasped.

“I said I don’t know—­don’t know any such name you say.  I never hear it.  You hurt me—­take your hand away.”

“Not till you tell me.”  But he loosened his harsh grip.  “Now tell me all you know—­please tell me all you know,” he besought with a sudden melting into desperate entreaty.  Worriedly he stared at this curious little kitten-thing beside him on whose truth now that other girl’s life was resting.

“Well, I tell you true I do not know that name,” began Fritzi Baroff, with a little sullen dignity over her shame.  “And I saved your life, for it was death for you to go back to that palace.  You heard them coming for us.  You would have got yourself killed and that little girl would be no better.  Now I can tell you how to help her.”

“All right—­tell me,” said the young American in a tense voice.  “Tell me everything you know about it,” and Fritzi told him, throwing aside all pretense of her uncertainty about Arlee, revealing every detail of the situation that she knew.

And from the heights of his gay relief Billy Hill was flung back into the deeps of desperate indignation.  The anger that had surged up in him that afternoon when he had felt his fears confirmed flamed up in him now in a fire of fury.  His blood was boiling....  Arlee Beecher in the power of that Turkish devil!  Arlee Beecher prisoned within that ghastly palace!  It was unreal.  It was monstrous....  That radiant girl he had danced with, that teasing little sprite, half flouting, half flirting.  Why, the thing was unthinkable!

He put a hand on the dancer’s arm.  “We must go to the consul at once,” he said.  “We must get her out to-night.”

“Consul!” The girl gave a short, derisive laugh.  “This is no matter for consuls, my young friend.  The law is slow, and by the time that law will stand knocking upon the palace doorstep, your little girl with the fair hair will be buried very deep and fast—­I think she would not be the first woman bricked into those black walls....  You must go about this yourself....  You are in love with her—­yes?” she added impertinently, with keen, uptilted eyes.

“That’s another story,” Billy curtly informed her.  He made no attempt to analyze his feeling for Arlee Beecher.  She had enchanted him in those two days that he had known her.  She had obsessed his thoughts in those two days of her disappearance.  Now that he was aware of her peril every selfish thought was overwhelmed in burning indignation.  He told himself that he would do as much for any girl in her situation, and, indeed, so hot ran his rage and so dearly did his young blood love rash adventure and high-handed justice, that there was some honest excuse for the statement!