“Relating to our first encounter with the great and only Ranjab,” pursued Brood oracularly. “We found him in a little village far up in the mountains. He was under the sentence of death for murder. By the way, Yvonne, the kris you have in your hand is the very weapon the good fellow used in the commission of his crime. He was in prison and was to die within a fortnight after our arrival in the town. I heard of his unhappy plight and all that had led up to it. His case interested me tremendously. One night, a week before the proposed execution, my friends and I stormed the little prison and rescued him. We were just getting over the cholera and needed excitement. That was fifteen years ago. He has been my trusted body-servant ever since. I am sure you will be interested in what I have written about that thrilling adventure.” Yvonne had dropped the ugly knife upon the table as if it were a thing that scorched her fingers. “Did he--really kill a man?” whispered Miss Janey with horror in her eyes. “He killed a woman. His wife, Miss Janey. She had been faithless, you see. He cut her heart out. And now, Ranjab, are you ready?” The Hindu salaamed. “Ranjab is always ready, _sahib_,” said he. CHAPTER IX The next day, after a sleepless night, Frederic announced to his stepmother that he could no longer remain under his father's roof. He would find something to do in order to support himself. It was impossible to go on pretending that he loved or respected his father, and the sooner the farce was ended the better it would be for both of them. She, too, had passed a restless night. She slept but little. It was a night filled with waking dreams as well as those which came in sleep. There was always an ugly, wriggly kris in those dreams of hers, and a brown hand that was for ever fascinating her with its uncanny deftness. Twice in the night she had clutched her husband's shoulder in the terror of a dream, and he had soothed her with the comfort of his strong arms. She crept close to him and slept again, secure for the moment against the sorcery that haunted her. He had been surprised, even gratified, when she came into his room long after midnight, to creep shivering into his bed. She was like a little child “afraid of the dark.” Her influence alone prevented the young man from carrying out his threat. At first he was as firm as a rock in his determination. He was getting his few possessions together in his room when she tapped on his door. After a while he abandoned the task and followed her rather dazedly to the boudoir, promising to listen to reason. For an hour she argued and pleaded with him, and in the end he agreed to give up what she was pleased to call his preposterous plan. “Now, that being settled,” she said with a sigh of relief, “let us go and talk it all over with Lydia.”