The squat Javanese stooped and lifted the girl without an effort, and as he did so the little men who stood around clapped their hands rhythmically. Leslie heard and set her teeth, as she felt herself raised in the strong hands of this hideous little man. She had a glimpse of Anita Bellini. The hate in her eyes made her shudder in spite of herself. “Good-bye, little Maughan!” she mocked. “You are going to your death.” And then she stopped, her eyes glaring toward the door. “Stand fast, everybody! Tell these fellows not to move, Bellini!” It was Coldwell’s voice. Leslie felt herself slipping from the encircling arms. Then, suddenly, somebody caught her, and she looked round into the haggard face of Peter Dawlish. “No gun play,” said Coldwell gently, “and there will be no trouble. I want you, Bellini! I suppose you are prepared for that?” “I am called Princess Bellini,” she said. “Whether you’re Princess Bellini or Annie Druze or Alice Druze is a matter of supreme indifference to me,” said Coldwell, as he caught her wrist. “But you have the distinction of being the first woman I’ve ever handcuffed.” He snapped the cold circle about her wrist. “But then, you see, most of the ladies I’ve pinched have been gentle little souls compared to you.” She made no reply. That old look had come into her face again which Leslie had seen before. Then Anita Bellini did an unexpectedly generous thing. She nodded to the wondering group of natives, shepherded behind three armed detectives. “These men have done no harm,” she said. “They have merely carried out my instructions in ignorance of the law.” She said something in Javanese to the man who had held Leslie, and he grinned and answered in the same language. “My head boy here”--she nodded to him--“will accept responsibility for the other natives.” And then, with a sidewise jerk of her head and a hard smile, she said: “Well, here is the very end of the Druzes.” “Not quite.” Leslie’s quiet voice interrupted her. “Martha has still to be disposed of.” There was anger, but there was fear also in Anita Bellini’s grimace. “Martha? What do you mean--Martha?” she asked sharply. “I have not seen her for years.” Leslie smiled. “I saw her two days ago, so I have the advantage of you,” she said. They waited only long enough for Leslie to gather a change of dress and a coat for the prisoner, and thereafter Anita Bellini went out of her life forever, except for the day when Leslie stood in the witness box and testified against the monocled prisoner, who did not look at her but sat staring straight ahead at the scarlet-robed judge. Before she collected the clothes, she went in search of Elizabeth, and found her weeping in her bed in the little dressing room, and persuaded her to dress. By the time the princess was out of the house and on her way to Wimbledon police station, the child was arrayed in her rags. Leslie stood in the doorway looking at her, and she was very near to tears.