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Page 32
She merely echoed what many a man had said before her. She
wondered at herself, and in doing so but wondered at the mystery
of womanhood.
Clarity was returning. The room no longer swam around her. She
crossed in the direction of a garish curtain, which instinctively
she divined to mask a door. Dragging it aside, she tried the
handle, but the door was locked. A second door she found, and
this also proved to be locked.
There was one tall window, also covered by ornate draperies, but
it was shuttered, and the shutters had locks. Another small
window she discovered, glazed with amber glass, but set so high
in the wall as to be inaccessible.
Dread assailed her, and dropping on to one of the divans, she hid
her face in her hands.
"My God!" she whispered. "My God! Give me strength--give me
courage."
For a long time she remained there, listening for any sound which
should disperse the silence. She thought of her husband, of the
sweet security of her home, of the things which she had forfeited
because of this mad quest of adventure. And presently a key
grated in a lock.
Lady Pat started to her feet with a wild, swift action which must
have reminded a beholder of a startled gazelle. The drapery
masking the door which she had first investigated was drawn
aside. A man entered and dropped the curtain behind him.
Exactly what she had expected she could not have defined, but the
presence of this perfect stranger was a complete surprise. The
man, who wore embroidered slippers and a sort of long blue robe,
stood there regarding her with an expression which, even in her
frantic condition, she found to be puzzling. He had long, untidy
gray hair brushed back from his low brow; eyes strangely like the
eyes of Lou Chada, except that they were more heavy-lidded; but
his skin was as yellow as a guinea, and his gaunt, cleanshaven
face was the face of an Oriental.
The slender hands, too, which he held clasped before him, were
yellow, and possessed a curiously arresting quality. Pat
imagined them clasped about her white throat, and her very soul
seemed to shrink from the man who stood there looking at her with
those long, magnetic, inscrutable eyes.
She wondered why she was surprised, and suddenly realized that it
was because of the expression in his eyes, for it was an
expression of cold anger. Then the intruder spoke.
"Who are you?" he demanded, speaking with an accent which was
unfamiliar to her, but in a voice which was not unlike the voice
of Lou Chada. "Who brought you here?"
This was so wholly unexpected that for a moment she found herself
unable to reply, but finally:
"How dare you!" she cried, her native courage reasserting itself.
"I have been drugged and brought to this place. You shall pay
for it. How dare you!"
"Ah!" The long, dark eyes regarded her unmovingly. "But who are
you?"
"I am Lady Rourke. Open the door. You shall bitterly regret
this outrage."
"You are Lady Rourke?" the man repeated. "Before you speak of
regrets, answer the question which I have asked: Who brought you
here?"
"Lou Chada."
"Ah!" There was no alteration of pose, no change of expression,
but slightly the intonation had varied.
"I don't know who you are, but I demand to be released from this
place instantly."
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