"Ask me anything, anything!" she said passionately. "I look to you to save me!" "Who are you, and what are you doing in this house?" "It's a miserable story!" she said in a shamed voice. "My name is Clelie Mendizabal. I am a Peruvian. My father died a few years ago leaving us penniless. I had to go to work. Well, in Peru a girl who works for her living is looked down upon, so I determined to come to New York. They said that the streets of New York were fairly paved with gold. I had no difficulty in finding work here, but I soon found that a working girl has no easy time in America either. There was a man from my own country who made believe to be my friend--I trusted him--Ah! I was so friendless here! I thought no wrong. I went about with him--Oh, how can I go on! One night a month ago he brought me to this house saying that it was a restaurant. I--I have not been out of it since!" Somehow this piteous tale failed of conviction. For one thing the teller, in the one brief glimpse he had had of her, had seemed much too radiant and blooming to be the victim of so terrible a fate. Moreover, she had seemed to tell it with a certain gusto that suggested the pride of authorship. It might be true, but Greg resolved to keep an open mind. "Why don't you throw up the window yonder and call for help?" he asked. "They're locked." "Windows are never locked on the outside," he said dryly. "You could hang from the sill and drop without danger. It can't be more than twelve feet or so to the ground. And climb over the fence into one of the other back yards. Or if you couldn't get over the fence you could scream for help until the neighbors rescued you." "People don't want to rescue one like me," she said mournfully. "Nonsense! Times have changed. They're crazy about it nowadays. Cut me loose, and I'll undertake to get you out." "But I'm afraid of you. Who are you? Tell me truly." "Elmer Fishback," said Greg, grinning in the dark. "Who sent you here, really?" "I told you. A fare who picked me up. I don't know his name." She put her two hands on his shoulders and brought her face close to his; he sensed the great languorous eyes in the dark. "Trust me," she whispered. "You will never regret it!" Greg was exquisitely uncomfortable. He desired to make use of this woman if he could, but he found himself unable to produce the slightest semblance of warmth. He got out of it the best way he could. "A man bound hand and foot like this can feel nothing for a woman," he said. "He is not a man but a mere log! Free my hands and I'll show you!" Her instinct was not deceived. She drew away with a sharp little movement in which Greg apprehended danger. "How can I trust you if you will not trust me?" she said somberly. "What difference does it make how I came here if the main thing for both of us is to get out?" "I couldn't go with you unless I knew who you were. Won't you tell me how you came here?"