lcolm to the heavy
curtains at either side of the open window--curtains which the drugged
man had not drawn.

"He has left his quarters, Highness," Boolba spoke eagerly; "he was seen
to enter the grounds of the palace--where is he?"

He took a step toward her.

"Stand back--you slave!" she breathed, but with a bound he was upon her.
There was a brief struggle, and the book was wrenched from her hand.

Malcolm saw all this, but lay as one dead. He was conscious but
paralysed by the potion, and could only watch the girl in the grip of
the obese monster and feel his heart going like a steam hammer.

Boolba stood gloating over his prize, fondling the book in his big,
coarse hands. Malcolm wondered why the girl did not scream--yet how
could she? She was in his room in the middle of the night, she, a
daughter of emperors.

The man tried to wrench open the locks which held the covers, but
failed. Suddenly he looked up, and glared across at the girl.

He said nothing, but the suspicion in that scowl was emphasized when he
moved to the wall near the window and the light of a bracket lamp.

Again he examined the book and for the first time spoke:

"Oh, Highness, was it you who sent for Israel Kensky that the book
should be restored----"

So far he got when an arm came from behind the curtain--a hand
blue-veined, and it held a yellow handkerchief.

The girl saw it, and her hand went to her mouth.

Then the handkerchief struck full across Boolba's face, covering it from
forehead to the mouth.

For a moment the man was paralysed, then he pulled the handkerchief away
and clawed at the clay-like substance which adhered to his face.

"Mother of God!"

He screamed the words and, dropping the book, stumbled forward, rubbing
at his face, shrieking with pain.

The girl ran swiftly through the open door, for feet were now pattering
along the corridors and the flicker of lights showed through the
doorway. Boolba was rolling on the ground in agony when the servants
crowded in, followed by the Grand Duke--and he alone was fully dressed.

"Boolba--what is it?"

"The book--the book! It is mine! See ... floor!"

But the book had disappeared.

"Where, Boolba--where, my good Boolba?" The voice of Boolba's master was
tremulous. "Show me--did he strike you--he shall suffer, by the saints!
Look for it, Boolba!"

"Look! Look!" yelled the writhing man. "How shall I look? I who am
blind--blind--blind!"

CHAPTER X

TER