“In this box there are clothes of all varieties, and expensive to purchase,” said Oberzohn, pointing to a brand-new trunk at the foot of one of the beds. “Food you will have in plenty—bread and milk newly every day. By night you shall keep the curtain over the ventilator.” On the wall was a small black curtain about ten inches square. Monty took her into the next apartment and showed her the wash-place. There was even a bath, a compulsory fixture under the English Factory Act in a store of this description, where, in the old days, men had to handle certain insanitary products of the Coast. “But how do we get out, Monty? Where do we get exercise?” “You’ll come out to-morrow night: I’ll see to that,” he said, dropping his voice. “Now listen, Joan: you’ve got to be a sensible girl and help me. There’s money in this—bigger money than you have ever dreamed of. And when we’ve got this unpleasant business over, I’m taking you away for a trip round the world.” It was the old promise, given before, never fulfilled, always hoped for. But this time it did not wholly remove her uneasiness. “But what are you going to do with the girl?” she asked. “Nothing; she will be kept here for a week. I’ll swear to you that nothing will happen to her. At the end of a week she’s to be released without a hair of her head being harmed.” She looked at him searchingly. As far as she was able to judge, he was speaking the truth. And yet—— “I can’t understand it,”—she shook her head, and for once Monty Newton was patient with her. “She’s the owner of a big property in Africa, and that we shall get, if things work out right,” he said. “The point is that she must claim within a few days. If she doesn’t, the property is ours.” Her face cleared. “Is that all?” She believed him, knew him well enough to detect his rare sincerity. “That’s taken a load off my mind, Monty. Of course I’ll stay and look after her for you—it makes it easier to know that nothing will happen. What are those baize things behind the furnace—they look like boxes?” He turned on her quickly. “I was going to tell you about those,” he said. “You’re not to touch them under any circumstances. They belong to the old man and he’s very stuffy about such things. Leave them just as they are. Let him touch them and nobody else. Do you understand?” She nodded, and, to his surprise, pecked his cheek with her cold lips. “I’ll help you, boy,” she said tremulously. “Maybe that trip will come off after all, if——” “If what?” “Those men—the men you were talking about—the Four Just Men, don’t they call themselves? They scare me sick, Monty! They were the people who took her away before, and they’ll kill us—even Oberzohn says that. They’re after him. Has he”—she hesitated—“has he killed anybody? That snake stuff . . . you’re not in it, are you, Monty?” She looked more like a child than a sophisticated woman, clinging to his arm, her blue eyes looking pleadingly into his.