andy?" he demanded abruptly, looking
around. "She's fainted. There's a bottle in the cupboard in my
bathroom."

The voice of Chalmers answered quickly from the door-way, "Yes, sir,
I'll get it, sir."

Anxiously Roger fell to chafing the girl's cold hands then became
unpleasantly aware that Sartorius was regarding him with a faintly
sardonic expression on his sallow face.

"I suppose you have realised what those marks mean," the doctor said
with a slight movement of his head towards the punctured sleeve.

"Well, what do they mean?" returned Roger aggressively.

"Simply what I ought to have guessed all along--that the unfortunate
woman is the victim of a drug-habit."

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Roger to swallow his
rage at what seemed to him an insulting suggestion. Drug-victim!
Esther! What an absurdity! Besides, would anyone give herself
injections through her sleeves? Preposterous! ... He continued to
slap the limp hands. Why did she show no sign of reviving? It seemed
to him that her heart scarcely beat at all. The awful idea came to him
that she might be dead from shock and weakness.... Why was Chalmers so
long over getting the brandy? Becoming desperate with impatience he
decided to go himself; perhaps the old man could not find the bottle.

"Dido," he said as his aunt approached with smelling-salts in her hand,
"stay with her, don't leave her, do what you can. I'll not be gone a
minute."

As the old lady took his place he quickly ran out and along the hall to
his room. Reaching the open door he heard a curious sound which came
from the lighted bathroom beyond. What was it? It seemed like
strained and heavy breathing; then he caught muttered, angry words in
French, an expletive that reeked of the gutter. What on earth did it
mean? He strove to the door, then halted on the threshold, completely
petrified. Speech deserted him, he could only stare, hardly able to
credit what he saw.

Facing him, her back against the wall, was Therese, struggling with
every ounce of strength she possessed to escape from a man who gripped
her firmly by the wrists. Transformed into a tigress, her cheeks
burning with passion, she writhed and pushed and panted in her efforts
to free herself. Her captor's breath came hard; he was barely more
than a match for her, yet he never relaxed his hold.

"Therese! What is the meaning of this?"

The man, whom he now saw to be old and grey-haired,