For a moment she looked as though she were about to strike him with the electric torch which she was carrying. With a great effort of self-control, however, she changed her mind and threw herself into his easy-chair with a little gesture of recklessness. Julian seated himself opposite to her. Although she kept her face as far as possible averted, he realised more than ever in those few moments that she was really an extraordinarily beautiful person. Her very attitude was full of an angry grace. The quivering of her lips was the only sign of weakness. Her eyes were filled with cold resentment. “Well,” she said, “I am your prisoner. I listen.” “You are after that packet, I suppose?” “What sagacity!” she scoffed. “I trusted you with it, and you behaved like a brute. You kept it. It has nothing to do with you. You have no right to it.” “Let us understand one another, once and for all,” he suggested. “I will not even discuss the question of rightful or wrongful possession. I have the packet, and I am going to keep it. You cannot cajole it out of me, you cannot steal it from me. To-morrow I shall take it to London and deliver it to my friend at the Foreign Office. Nothing could induce me to change my mind.” She seemed suddenly to be caught up in the vortex of a new emotion. All the bitterness passed from her expression. She fell on her knees by his side, sought his hands, and lifted her face, full of passionate entreaty, to his. Her eyes were dimmed with tears, her voice piteous. “Do not be so cruel, so hard,” she begged. “I swear before Heaven that there is no treason in those papers, that they are the one necessary link in a great, humanitarian scheme. Be generous, Mr. Orden. Julian! Give it back to me. It is mine. I swear--” His hands gripped her shoulders. She was conscious that he was looking past her, and that there was horror in his eyes. The words died away on her lips. She, too, turned her head. The door of the sitting room had been opened from outside. Lord Maltenby was standing there in his dressing gown, his hand stretched out behind him as though to keep some one from following him. “Julian,” he demanded sternly, “what is the meaning of this?” For a moment Julian was speechless, bereft of words, or sense of movement. Catherine still knelt there, trembling. Then Lord Maltenby was pushed unceremoniously to one side. It was the Princess who entered. “Catherine!” she screamed. “Catherine!” The girl rose slowly to her feet. The Princess was leaning on the back of a chair, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and sobbing hysterically. Lord Shervinton’s voice was heard outside. “What the devil is all this commotion?” he demanded. He, too, crossed the threshold and remained transfixed. The Earl closed the door firmly and stood with his back against it.