The inspection, on the chauffeur's part at least, appeared to be satisfactory. “Yes, sir,” said the man. “Step in, sir, please.” The door swung open--just how, John Bruce could not have explained. He stepped briskly into the car--only to draw back instinctively as he found it already occupied. But the door had closed behind him. It was inky black in the interior now with the door shut. The car was jolting into motion. “Pardon me!” said John Bruce a little grimly, and sat down on the back seat. A woman! He had just been able to make out a woman's form as he had stepped in. It was clever--damned clever! Of both the exquisite Monsieur Henri de Lavergne and the money-lending spider at the other end of this pleasant little jaunt into unexplored Persia! A woman in it--a luring, painted, fair and winsome damsel, no doubt--to make the usurious pill of illegal interest a little sweeter! Oh, yes, he quite understood now that warning to beware of the conductor! “I did not anticipate such charming company,” said John Bruce facetiously. “Have we far to go?” There was no answer. Something like a shadow, deeper than the surrounding blackness, seemed to pass before John Bruce's eyes, and then he sat bolt upright, startled and amazed. In front of him, let down from the roof of the car, was a small table covered with black velvet, and suspended some twelve inches above the table, throwing the glow downward in a round spot of light over the velvet surface, was a shaded electric lamp. A small white hand, bare of any ornament, palm upward, lay upon the velvet table-top under the play of the light. A voice spoke now softly from beside him: “You have something to pawn?” John Bruce stared. He still could not see her face. “Er--yes,” he said. He frowned in perplexity. “When we get to Persia, alias the pawn-shop.” “This is the pawn-shop,” she answered. “Let me see what you have, please.” “Well, I'm da----” John Bruce checked himself. There was a delicacy about that white hand resting there under the light that rebuked him. “Er--pardon me,” said John Bruce. He felt for his jeweled watch-fob, unfastened it, and laid it in the extended palm. He laughed a little to himself. On with the game! The lure was here, all right; the stage setting was masterly--and now the piper would be paid on a basis, probably, that would relegate Shylock himself to the kindergarten class of money lenders!