ildly for a place of concealment; but the corridor
was bare. Facing him was the red enamel door. Boldly he turned
the handle and walked in, softly closing the door behind him.

It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room in
which he found himself was a study in vivid red emphasized by
black. Red and black; these were the only colors in the room. The
curtains, which were of black silk, were drawn, though it was not
yet dark outside, and from the ceiling was suspended a lamp in
the shape of a great scarlet bowl which cast an eerie red light
on one of the most bizarre apartments that Desmond had ever seen.

It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by the
craze for barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the Russian
Ballet into England. The walls were enameled the same brilliant
glossy red as the door and hung at intervals with panels of
magnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table which ran down
the centre of the room was of scarlet and gold lacquer like the
fantastically designed chairs and the rest of the furniture. The
heavy carpet was black.

Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his
attention was immediately directed to a high-backed armchair
covered in black satin which stood with its back to the door. He
stared at this chair; for, peeping out above the back, making a
splash of deep golden brown against the black sheen of the
upholstery, was a mass of curls... Barbara Mackwayte's hair.

As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimpering
voice:

"No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave me
alone!"

Desmond sprang to her side.

"Barbara!" he cried and never noticed that he called her by her
Christian name.

Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the
black-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there
were black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet
highly-strung look about her that you see in people who
habitually take drugs.

She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had
not spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving her
body about uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbed
by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond saw
that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the chair.
Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but
her hands had been left free.

"Barbara!" said Desmond softly, "you know me! I'm De