“Is that so?” Anita’s voice was soft and silky. “Do you realize, my good woman, that if I can’t get out, who has put me in--you! You’ve been prying into the history of the Druzes, have you? Ah, ha!” She laughed harshly. “I know a great deal more than you imagine. And you’ve been putting the little pieces together to trap Anita--poor old Anita, eh?” She showed her big white teeth in a mirthless smile, and suddenly slipped from the divan and drew near to the girl. She clapped her hands twice. The room was seemingly empty; yet at that signal half a dozen little men appeared as if by magic from behind the long curtains. Anita, her face swollen with rage, spluttered something and the squat shapes came shuffling toward her. Leslie did not move. She stood erect, her hands by her sides, her pale face turned to the woman. Even when they seized her, she did not resist, but allowed herself to be hurried behind the fold of a curtain and through a door into a stuffy little room into which she was thrust. The door was closed on her, a lock snapped; from the other side of the door a mocking voice called to her. “Now I will be avenged.” Leslie stooped, pulled up her skirt, and unstrapped an appendage from a garter. It was a small-calibre weapon. She slipped back the jacket, forced in a cartridge, and brought the catch to safety. Then she began to explore. The furniture of the room was a little tawdry. The divan, which seemed an indispensable adjunct to every room, was old and worn; a shaded light hung from the ceiling; there were two brass dishes attached to the wall. It appeared to be the apartment of a highly favoured upper servant, and this she confirmed when she turned over the coverings of the divan and saw what was apparently a suit of native clothing. There was a second door to the room and this she tried. Then, to her surprise and delight, she saw that there was a key on the outside. She turned this, and to her relief it opened, and she found herself in a very conventional bedroom, the type of apartment she would have expected to discover in any of the houses on Wimbledon Common. No lights were burning and it was inadvisable to switch them on. Softly she closed the door of the room she had left, and tiptoeing across the floor, felt her way to the bedroom door. She turned the handle softly and looked out. Happily, the two men who stood on the landing had their backs turned to her. She closed the door again, in an agony of fear lest she should make a sound. Running quickly across the bedroom, she tried the windows. They were not only fastened and barred, but, as a further barrier to egress, the bars were covered with a stout wire screen. Perhaps there was a bathroom, she thought, and groped along the wall. After a while she felt the handle of a door and opened it gingerly. She must risk putting on the light for a second, and this she did.