“I dare say your own company would be fine,” said Penne sarcastically. “It would be fine for me, who footed the bill, and finer for you, who spent the money! No! Stella, that cat doesn’t jump. I’ve been very good to you, and you’ve no right to expect me to bankrupt myself to humour your whims.” “It’s not a whim,” she said vehemently, “it’s a necessity. You don’t want to see me going round the studios taking any kind of job I can get, do you, Gregory?” she pleaded. “I don’t want to see you work at all, and there’s no reason why you should. You’ve enough to live on. Anyway, you’ve got nothing against Knebworth. If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t have met me, and if you hadn’t met me, you’d have been poorer by thousands. You want a change.” There was a silence. Her head was drooped, and Michael could not see the girl’s face, but when she spoke, there was that note of viciousness in her voice which told him her state of mind. “You want a change too, perhaps! I could tell things about you that wouldn’t look good in print, and you’d have a change too! Get that in your mind, Gregory Penne! I’m not a fool—I’ve seen things and heard things, and I can put two and two together. You think I want a change, do you—I do! I want friends who aren’t murderers——” He sprang at her, his big hand covering her mouth. “You little devil!” he hissed, and at that instant somebody must have knocked, for he turned to the door and said something in the native dialect. The answer was inaudible to Mike. “Listen.” Gregory was speaking to the girl in a calmer tone. “Foss is waiting to see me, and I’ll discuss this little matter with you afterwards.” He released her, and, going to his desk, touched the spring that operated the mechanism of the secret door that led to Bhag’s quarters. “Go in there and wait,” he said. “I’ll not keep you longer than five minutes.” She looked suspiciously at the door which had suddenly opened in the panelling. “No,” she said, “I’ll go home. To-morrow will do. I’m sorry I got rough, Gregory, but you madden me sometimes.” “Go in there!” He pointed to the den, his face working. “I’ll not!” Her face was white. “You beast, don’t you think I know? That is Bhag’s den! Oh, you beast!” His face was horrible to see. It was as though all the foulness in his mind found expression in the demoniacal grimace. Breathless, terrified, the girl stared at him, shrinking back against the wall. Presently Gregory mastered himself. “Then go into the little drawing-room,” he said huskily. Mike had time to switch out the lights and flatten himself against the wall, when the door of the room was flung open and the girl thrust in. “It is dark!” she wailed. “You’ll find the switches!” The door banged. Michael Brixan was in a dilemma. He could see her figure groping along the wall, and stealthily he moved to avoid her. In doing so he stumbled over a stool. “Who’s there?” she screamed. “Gregory! Don’t let him touch me, Gregory!”