"Is your hand steady? We may have to shoot." I thought of Karamaneh, of lovely dark-eyed Karamaneh, whom this wonderful, evil product of secret China had stolen from me--for so I now adjudged it. "Rely upon me!" I said grimly. "I--" The words ceased--frozen on my tongue. There are things that one seeks to forget, but it is my lot often to remember the sound which at that moment literally struck me rigid with horror. Yet it was only a groan; but, merciful God! I pray that it may never be my lot to listen to such a groan again. Smith drew a sibilant breath. "It's Eltham!" he whispered hoarsely, "they're torturing--" "No, no!" screamed a woman's voice--a voice that thrilled me anew, but with another emotion. "Not that, not--" I distinctly heard the sound of a blow. Followed a sort of vague scuffling. A door somewhere at the back of the house opened--and shut again. Some one was coming along the passage towards us! "Stand back!" Smith's voice was low, but perfectly steady. "Leave it to me!" Nearer came the footsteps and nearer. I could hear suppressed sobs. The door opened, admitting again the faint light--and Karamaneh came in. The place was quite unfurnished, offering no possibility of hiding; but to hide was unnecessary. Her slim figure had not crossed the threshold ere Smith had his arm about the girl's waist and one hand clapped to her mouth. A stifled gasp she uttered, and he lifted her into the room. "Shut the door, Petrie," he directed. I stepped forward and closed the door. A faint perfume stole to my nostrils--a vague, elusive breath of the East, reminiscent of strange days that, now, seemed to belong to a remote past. Karamaneh! that faint, indefinable perfume was part of her dainty personality; it may appear absurd--impossible--but many and many a time I had dreamt of it. "In my breast pocket," rapped Smith; "the light." I bent over the girl as he held her. She was quite still, but I could have wished that I had had more certain mastery of myself. I took the torch from Smith's pocket and, mechanically, directed it upon the captive. She was dressed very plainly, wearing a simple blue skirt, and white blouse. It was easy to divine that it was she whom Eltham had mistaken for a French maid. A brooch set with a ruby was pinned at the point where the blouse opened--gleaming fierily and harshly against the soft skin. Her face was pale and her eyes wide with fear. "There is some cord in my right-hand pocket," said Smith. "I came provided. Tie her wrists." I obeyed him, silently. The girl offered no resistance, but I think I never essayed a less congenial task than that of binding her white wrists. The jewelled fingers lay quite listlessly in my own. "Make a good job of it!" rapped Smith significantly. A flush rose to my cheeks, for I knew well enough what he meant. "She is fastened," I said, and I turned the ray of the torch upon her again.