A little way down the terrace something was moving. Geoffrey could hear what sounded to him like labored breathing, followed by a stifled cry of pain. "The one hawk is wounded and the other has sheered off," said Tchigorsky. "It sounds like a woman," said Geoffrey. "It is a woman, my dear boy. And such a woman! Beautiful as the angels, fair as a summer's night. Clever! No words can paint her talents. And she is in the toils. She cries, but nobody heeds." Again came the cry of pain. There was a flash and a spurt of flame as Tchigorsky struck a match and proceeded to light a lantern. He picked his way over the entanglement of wires; Geoffrey followed him. "Who laid this labyrinth?" Geoffrey asked. "Oh, a good and true assistant of ours, an old servant of your uncle's. We have more than one assistant, and Elphick is invaluable. We laid the trap for the bird, and she has broken her wing in it. Pity she had not broken her neck." Geoffrey did not echo the last ferocious sentiment. He was aflame with curiosity. A little farther off in the dim path shown by the lantern's flare something dark lay huddled on the ground. There was a flash of white here and there, the shimmer and rustle of silken garments. It might have been Geoffrey's fancy, but he seemed to hear a hurried whisper of voices, and saw something rise from the ground and hurry away. But the black and white heap remained. Tchigorsky flashed his lantern upon it. Geoffrey could just see that there was a strange malignant grin upon his face. "A lady," he cried in affected astonishment. "Ravenspur, here is a lady! Madame permit me to tender you our assistance. You are in pain." A white, defiant face looked up--a beautiful face disfigured for the moment by evil passions. There was murder in the eyes. The woman seemed to have no consciousness of any one but Tchigorsky. "It is you," she hissed. "_Toujours_ Tchigorsky." "Yes, it is I. But I have unfortunately forgotten your name. Strange that one should do so in the case of one so lovely and distinguished. You are----" "Mrs. May. Mrs. Mona May." She had caught sight of Geoffrey now and a smile came, forced to her lips. "Mrs. Mona May," said Tchigorsky. He spoke in the same slightly mocking strain. "Mrs. Mona May. How stupid of me to forget. And yet in my muddled brain the name was so different." Geoffrey bent over the woman anxiously. "You are in pain," he said. "May I assist you?" "Indeed, it is very kind of you, Mr. Ravenspur," Mrs. May replied. "I tripped over something. I have hurt my ankle." "Barbed wire," said Tchigorsky. "Laid down to trap--er--burglars." "But on no other occasion----" Mrs. May paused and bit her lips. Tchigorsky smiled. He understood what she was going to say. On no other occasion when she had been here had she encountered a similar obstacle. Geoffrey was frankly puzzled. "How did you get here?" he asked. "When the gates are closed----"