The Dark Star

She made an effort: "Is it your house?" she gasped.

"It isn't yours, is it?" he retorted.

She made no answer.

"Why did you shoot at me?"

She lifted her black eyes and stared at him. Her breast rose and fell

with her rapid breathing, and she placed both hands over it as though

to quiet it.

"Come," he said, "I'm in a hurry. I want an explanation from you----"

The words died on his lips as she whipped a knife out of her bosom and

flew at him. Through the confusion of flash light and darkness they

reeled, locked together, but he caught her arm again, jerking it so

violently into the air that he lifted her off her feet.

"That's about all for tonight," he panted, twisting the knife out of

her helpless hand and flinging it behind him. Without further

ceremony, he pulled out his handkerchief, caught her firmly, reached

for her other arm, jerked it behind her back, and tied both wrists.

Then he dragged a chair up and pushed her on it.

Her hat had fallen off, and her hair sagged to her neck. The frail

stuff of which her waist was made had been badly torn, too, and hung

in rags from her right shoulder.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

As she made no reply, he went over and picked up the knife and the

pistol. The knife was a silver-mounted Kurdish dagger; the engraved

and inlaid blade appeared to be dull and rusty. He examined it for a

few moments, glanced inquiringly at her where she sat, pale and mute

on the chair, with both wrists tied behind her.

"You seem to be a connoisseur of antiques," he said. "Your dagger is

certainly a collector's gem, and your revolver is equally out of date.

I recommend an automatic the next time you contemplate doing murder."

Walking up to her he looked curiously into her dark eyes, but he could

detect no expression in them.

"Why did you come here?" he demanded.

No answer.

"Did you come to get an olive-wood box bound with silver?"

A slight colour tinted the ashy pallor under her eyes.

He turned abruptly and swept the furniture with his searchlight, and

saw on a table her coat, gloves, wrist bag, and furled umbrella; and

beside them what appeared to be her suitcase, open. It had a canvas

and leather cover: he walked over to the table, turned back the cover

of the suitcase and revealed a polished box of olive wood, heavily

banded by some metal resembling silver.

Inside the box were books, photographs, a bronze Chinese figure, which

he recognised as the Yellow Devil, a pair of revolvers, a dagger very

much like the one he had wrested from her. But there were no military

plans there.