When she came to herself once more, it was to find herself lying on a bed from which all the bed clothes had been removed. Her head swam at the slightest movement, and she felt deadly sick. With complete incuriosity, she noticed some figures in the room, and then again she slipped back into unconsciousness. The sound of voices roused her once more, after what seemed to be a span of eternity, and she slowly began to recollect the events which had led to her present condition. As she gained more control over herself, she attempted to move, but she found that her wrists and ankles were fettered, and her further vague attempts to get her bearings satisfied her that some kind of gag had been thrust between her teeth and lashed at the back of her head. For a while she lay, feeling sick and dizzy and unable to think clearly; but gradually, as the narcosis passed slowly off, she grew better able to take in her surroundings. She had just reached the stage when she could concentrate her attention when one of the figures in the room came to the side of the bed, and stooped down to examine her in the light of a candle. The features seemed faintly familiar; but in her drugged condition it was some moments before she could identify the man as Simon Aird, at one time valet at Foxhills. “Got your senses back, miss? You've been a longish while over it. Better pull yourself together.” Even in her bemused condition she recognised something in the tone of his voice which told her that he was not friendly. She lay still, fighting hard to recover her normal personality. Aird watched her with cold interest, without making any attempt to disturb her. At last the fumes of the anesthetic seemed to clear from her brain. “Feelin' sick, miss?” Aird inquired callously. “That's the chlorryform, I expect. You'll be all right in a jiffy or two.” Her head still swam, but she managed to turn slightly so that she could see the two other figures in the room. One of them, with his back to her, was unrecognisable. The other, whose face she could see, was a total stranger. Aird saw her glance, and interpreted it aloud. “Lookin' for your uncle, miss, I expect?” His mean little eyes seemed to twinkle at some obscure joke. “He couldn't come to meet you, miss, as arranged. He was unexpectedly detained. Ain't that so, boys? Mr. Paul Fordingbridge was unexpectedly detained, and couldn't come to meet 'is niece?” The joke, whatever it was, seemed to be shared by the other two, for they laughed coarsely. Aird was encouraged to proceed to further flights of humour.