She rose quickly to her feet, standing before him with head downcast. Stuart rose with difficulty. His legs were cramped and aching. He grasped Miska's hand and endeavoured to induce her to look up. One swift glance she gave him and looked away again. "You must go--this instant," she said. "I show you the way. There is not a moment to lose...." "Miska!" She glanced at him again. "You must come with me!" "Ah!" she whispered--"that is impossible! Have I not told you so?" "You have told me, but I cannot understand. Here, in England, you are free. Why should you remain with that cowled monster?" "Shall I tell you?" she asked, and he could feel how she trembled. "If I tell you, will you promise to believe me--and to go?" "Not without you!" "Ah! no, no! If I tell you that my only chance of life--such a little, little chance--is to stay, will you go?" Stuart secured her other hand and drew her toward him, half resisting. "Tell me," he said softly. "I will believe you--and if it can spare you one moment of pain or sorrow, I will go as you ask me." "Listen," she whispered, glancing fearfully back toward the closed door--"Fo-Hi has something that make people to die; and only he can bring them to life again. Do you believe this?" She looked up at him rapidly, her wonderful eyes wide and fearful. He nodded. "Ah! you know! Very well. On that day in Cairo, which I am taken before him--you remember, I tell you?--he ... oh!" She shuddered wildly and hid her beautiful face against Stuart's breast. He threw his arms about her. "Tell me," he said. "With the needle, he ... inject ..." "Miska!" Stuart felt the blood rushing to his heart and knew that he had paled. "There is something else," she went on, almost inaudibly, "with which he gives life again to those he had made dead with the needle. It is a light green liquid tasting like bitter apples; and once each week for six months it must be drunk or else ... the living death comes. Sometimes I have not seen Fo-Hi for six months at a time, but a tiny flask, one draught, of the green liquid, always comes to me wherever I am, every week ... and twice each year I see him--Fo-Hi ... and he ..." Her voice quivered and ceased. Moving back, she slipped a soft shoulder free of it s flimsy covering. Stuart looked--and suppressed a groan. Her arm was dotted with the tiny marks made by a hypodermic syringe! "You see!" she whispered tremulously. "If I go, I die, and I am buried alive ... or else I live until my body ..." "Oh, God!" moaned Stuart--"the fiend! the merciless, cunning fiend! Is there _nothing_ ..." "Yes, yes!" said Miska, looking up. "If I can get enough of the green fluid and escape. But he tell me once--it was in America--that he only prepares one tiny draught at a time! Listen! I must stay, and if he can be captured he must be forced to make this antidote ... Ah! go! go!"