ou, my young
friend!"

Then he turned to Strangwise.

"Where's Minna?" he asked.

"With the girl."

"Is the girl sleeping?"

Strangwise nodded.

"She wanted it," he replied, "no sleep for four days... I tell
you it takes some constitution to hold out against that!"

"Well," said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together,
"as we're not likely to be disturbed, I think we'll make a
start!"

He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and
foot, in his chair. Bellward's eyes were large and luminous, and
as Desmond glanced rather nervously at the face of the man
approaching him, he was struck by the compelling power they
seemed to emit.

Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a
couple of quick strides Bellward was at his side and stooping
down, had thrust his face right into his victim's. Bellward's
face was so close that Desmond felt his warm breath on his cheek
whilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through his closed
eyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze.

Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer
ideas were racing through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes,
scenes from his regimental life in India, memories of the front,
which he had deliberately summoned up to keep his attention
distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lights
pitilessly playing on his face.

Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced
his face up until his eyes came level with the other's. But he
offered no violence of any kind. He remained in his stooping
position, his face thrust forward, so perfectly still that
Desmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid peep
just to see what the mesmerist was doing.

He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told
himself. But the desire increased, intensified by the strong
attraction radiating from Bellward, and finally Desmond
succumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellward
and found the other's staring eyes, with pupils distended, fixed
on his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to avert
his gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast.

With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence
which was slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed,
he shouted defiance at Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches
of songs. But Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to be in a
kind of cataleptic