silver. The coffee was almost regal, so
strong, so full of sap. The light of triumph was in her eyes, making men
turn back, sometimes follow and look into her face, half appealing, half
insolent. But Victoria was unconscious of them, for the world was at her
feet. She was the axis of the earth. It was in such a frame of mind
that, the next day, she climbed the steps of Soho Place, careless of the
view into the underground kitchen, of the two dogs who under the archway
fought, growling, fouling the air with the scents of their hides, over
a piece of offal. She ran up the stairs lightly. The door was still
ajar.

Two men were sitting in the anteroom, both smoking briar pipes. The
taller of the two got up.

'Yes?' he said interrogatively.

'I . . . you . . . is Mr Carrel here?' asked Victoria nervously.

'No Miss,' said the man calmly, 'he's just gone to Marlborough Street.'

'Oh,' said Victoria, still nervous, 'will he be long?'

'I should say so, miss,' replied the man, 'perhaps twelve months,
perhaps more.'

Victoria gasped. 'I don't understand,' she said, but her heart began to
beat.

'Don't s'pose you would, miss,' said the short man, getting up. 'Fact
is, miss, we're the police and we've had to take him; just about time we
did, too. Leaving for France to-night with a batch of girls. S'pose
you're one of them?'

'I was going to-night,' said Victoria faintly.

'May I have your name?' asked the tall man politely, taking out a pocket
book.

'Fulton,' she faltered. 'Victoria Fulton.'

'M'yes, that's it. 'Gladys Oxford,'' said the tall man turning back a
page. 'Well Miss, you can thank your stars you're out of it.'

'But what has he done?' asked Victoria with an effort.

'Lord, Miss, you're from the country, I can see,' said the short man
amiably. 'I thought everybody knew that little game. Take you over to
Vichy, you know. Make you dance and sing. Provide costumes.' He winked
at his companion.

'Costumes,' said Victoria, 'what do you mean?'

'Costumes don't mean much, Miss, over there,' said the tall man. 'Fact
is you'd have to wear what they like and sing what they like when you
pass the plate round among the customers.'

Something seemed to freeze in Victoria.

'He said it was a theatre of varieties,' she gasped.

'Quite true,' said the tall man with returning cynicism. 'A theatre
right enough, but you'd have supplied the variety to the customers.'

Victoria clenched her hands on the handle of