Happily, the two men who stood on the landing had their backs turned to her. She closed the door again, in an agony of fear lest she should make a sound. Running quickly across the bedroom, she tried the windows. They were not only fastened and barred, but, as a further barrier to egress, the bars were covered with a stout wire screen. Perhaps there was a bathroom, she thought, and groped along the wall. After a while she felt the handle of a door and opened it gingerly. She must risk putting on the light for a second, and this she did.
It was evidently used as a dressing-room, and there was another door which, she guessed, led to a second bedroom. She turned out the lights; the door was locked, and again the key was on the outside. For a moment she suspected a trap and hesitated, but after a moment turned the key and entered the room, only to draw back instantly. Somebody was there; she heard the sound of breathing, and a tiny creak as though a body was turning in bed. And then:
“Who is it, please?” asked a voice, and Leslie nearly dropped.
For the child who spoke from the darkness was Elizabeth!
“Don’t make a sound,” she whispered, and, taking out the key, closed the door and locked it on the inside.
Only then did she feel for the light switch. The room was a small one, and apparently there was no other way out than that by which she had come. The small window was barred and wired; the window itself was of opaque glass. She looked round at Elizabeth; she was sitting up in a small bed, looking with astonishment at this unexpected vision. Then suddenly she leapt out of bed and came running towards the girl, and Leslie caught her in her arms.
“Are you going to take me away? I’m so frightened—these little men frighten me. I told you about them. One came and left the pistol with mother. Oh, take me away, please, please!”
Leslie gathered the frail form in her arms and kissed her.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said, but without any great conviction. “Tell me quickly, Elizabeth; is there another way out of this room?”
To her surprise, the child pointed to a plain bureau which stood against the wall.
“She comes through there sometimes,” she whispered. “A terrible woman—with an eyeglass. She told me that if I made any trouble one of the black men would kill me.” The child shuddered.
Putting her gently away, Leslie went to the bureau and pulled open the door. The wardrobe was empty and reached from the floor to the height of her head. The back was undoubtedly a door; there was no disguise about it. There was neither keyhole nor handle. Using all her strength, she pushed, and the door swung open—it had been fastened by a very simple spring catch.
She returned to Elizabeth and wrapped a bedspread round her thin shoulders.
“You’re to be very brave and very quiet,” she whispered. “Come with me.”
The child hesitated.
“She told me I must never go through there,” she began, but Leslie reassured her, and they passed through into an apartment which was also a bedroom, though apparently out of use. The bed was not made, and some of the furniture was shrouded in holland covers.
Again Leslie opened the main door, this time to find herself on another landing. There was nobody in sight. Down below, at the foot of a narrow flight of stairs, a light burnt dimly.
“You’ve got a pistol too,” whispered the child in wonder, and Leslie smiled.
“Don’t talk,” she breathed into Elizabeth’s ear, and led the way down the stairs.
They terminated in a small passage, paved with tiles. As she reached the foot of the stairs she heard the sound of voices, and, looking round cautiously, she saw that under the stairs was a door, and it was open. At the far end of the passage was another, and this obviously led to the outside of the house, for it was chained and bolted.
As she stood, debating what she should do, the voices grew fainter, and the patch of light on the wall which marked the open door disappeared. It was her chance. Grasping the child by the arm, she slipped off her shoes and hurried noiselessly along the passage in her stockinged feet.
She had reached the door, and with fingers which, in spite of her will, trembled, moved first one chain and then another. The top and bottom bolts were drawn; her hand was on the key, when from somewhere above came an outcry. A bell rang, a door under the stairs was flung open and three men ran out. The first two did not see her, but made for the stairs. The third caught sight of her over his shoulder and yelled a warning. In an instant the three men were flying towards her. Twice the little pistol banged, and one man slid to the ground with a yell, grasping his knee. And then they were on her and she was fighting desperately for life.
She heard the scream of the child and called out to her to open the door and escape. But Elizabeth was too petrified with terror to make any movement.
They carried Leslie Maughan, trussed and bound, into the purple saloon and laid her at Anita’s feet. And then the man who spoke English lifted his hand.
“Lady,” he said, “here is the woman. What shall be done?”
Anita pointed to him with her thick jewelled finger.
“This night you shall have the soul and body of Diga Nagara,” she said in her grating
