Even now he found it difficult to credit the verity of his case. He found it almost impossible to believe that such a being as Fo-Hi existed, that such deeds had been done, were being done, in England, as those of which he had heard from the sinister cowled man. Save for the hissing of the furnace and the clanking of the chain as he strove with all his strength to win freedom, that wonderful evil room was silent as the King's Chamber at the heart of the Great Pyramid. His gaze reverted to the yellow flask. "Oh, my God!" he groaned. Terror claimed him--the terror which he had with difficulty been fending off throughout that nightmare interview with Fo-Hi. Madness threatened him, and he was seized by an almost incontrollable desire to shout execrations--prayers--he knew not what. He clenched his teeth grimly and tried to think, to plan. He had two chances: The statement left with Inspector Dunbar, in which he had mentioned the existence of a house "near Hampton Court," and ... Miska. That she was one of the two exceptions mentioned by Fo-Hi he felt assured. But was she in this house, and did she know of his presence there? Even so, had she access to that room of mysteries--of horrors? And who was the other who remained? Almost certainly it was the fanatical Hindu, Chunda Lal, of whom she had spoken with such palpable terror and who watched her unceasingly, untiringly. _He_ would prevent her intervening even if she had power to intervene. His great hope, then, was in Dunbar ... for Gaston Max was dead. At the coming of that thought, the foul doing to death of the fearless Frenchman, he gnashed his teeth savagely and strained at the gyves until the pain in his ankles brought out beads of perspiration upon his forehead. He dropped his head into his hands and frenziedly clutched at his hair with twitching fingers. The faint sound occasioned by the opening of one of the sliding doors brought him sharply upright. Miska entered! She looked so bewilderingly beautiful that terror and sorrow fled, leaving Stuart filled only with passionate admiration. She wore an Eastern dress of gauzy shimmering silk and high-heeled gilt Turkish slippers upon her stockingless feet. About her left ankle was a gold bangle, and there was barbaric jewellery upon her arms. She was a figure unreal as all those in that house of dreams, but a figure so lovely that Stuart forgot the yellow flask ... forgot that less than ten minutes of life remained to him. "Miska!" he whispered--"Miska!" She exhibited intense but repressed excitement and fear. Creeping to the second door--that by which Fo-Hi had gone out--she pressed her ear to the lacquered panel and listened intently. Then, coming swiftly to the table, she took up a bunch of keys, approached Stuart and, kneeling, unlocked the gyves. The scent of jasmine stole to his nostrils. "God bless you!" he said with stifled ardour.