low dead black planets, while on every hand black
imps of Eblis writhed and struggled over golden screens, golden devils
mocked and mowed from panels of cinnabar, and horrific masks of
crimson lacquer, picked out with gold and black, leered and snarled
dumb menaces from darkened corners.

In such a room as this the mildest mannered man, steeping his soul in
the solace of mellow tobacco, might have been pardoned for dreaming
lustfully of battle, murder and sudden death, or for contemplating
with entire equanimity the tortured squirmings of some favourite enemy
upon the rack.

"Cosy little hole," P. Sybarite couldn't forbear to comment with a
shudder as he dropped into a chair in compliance with the woman's
gesture.

"I have my whims," she said. "How would you like a drink?"

"Not at all," he insisted hastily. "I've had all I need for the time
being."

"That's a mercy," she replied. "I don't much feel like waiting on you
myself, and the servants are all abed."

Offering cigarettes in a golden casket, she selected and lighted one
for herself.

"You have servants in the house, then?"

"Do I look like a woman who does her own housework?"

"You do not," he affirmed politely. "But can you blame me for
wondering where your servants've been all through this racket?"

"They sleep on the top floor, behind sound-proof doors," his hostess
explained complacently, "and have orders to answer only when I ring,
even if they should happen to hear anything. I've a passion for
privacy in my own home--another whim, if you like."

"It's nothing to me, I assure you," he protested. "Minding my own
business is one of the best little things I do."

"If that's so, why do you walk uninvited into strange bedrooms at all
hours, pretending to be a policeman, with a cock-and-bull yarn about a
burglar--"

"But there was a burglar!" P. Sybarite contended brightly. "You saw
him yourself."

"No."

"But--but you _did_ see him--later, on the stairs!"

Smiling, the woman shook her head. "I saw no burglar--merely a dear
friend. In short, if it interests you to know, I saw my husband."

"Madam!" P. Sybarite sat up with a shocked expression.

"Oh," said the woman lightly, "we're good enough for one another--he
and I. He deserved what he got when he married me. But that's not
saying I'm content to see him duck what's coming to him for to-night's
deviltry. In fact, I mean to get him before he gets me. Are you game
to lend me a hand?"

"M