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girl,” he went on with a smile, “but I wish you had held up the fellows we’re after.”
    â€œI don’t believe you are detectives.”
    â€œGood Lord!” Rezaire laughed. “Sam, have you got your papers on you?… No? Look here, young lady, I’m sorry, but we haven’t any time to waste proving to you that we come from Scotland Yard. We’re after a couple of men who, we believe, got in by this window and through the room while you were asleep.”
    He moved round toward the door. He and Sam were now standing on opposite sides of the bed in which the girl sat. He could see the white of her knuckles as she gripped the torch and knew now without doubt that she was desperately afraid.
    She seemed to be making her mind up. He gave her a few seconds that the reasonableness of his statement might sink in.
    Suddenly she spoke again: “Are you really detectives?”
    Rezaire nodded.
    â€œAnd you want to go after the burglars?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, the door’s locked.”
    â€œThen unlock it, please, and let’s get on. The men will have got away by now.”
    Still holding the revolver, the girl got lightly out of bed, and took a key from a table at the bedside. Inserting it in the lock she turned it; then with a sudden dramatic movement flung it out of the window.
    For a moment Rezaire stared uncomprehending, then took a quick step to the door and tried it. It was locked.
    â€œYou young fool,” he began angrily. “What have you done?”
    â€œThere!” she said breathlessly with a sort of frightened triumph: “I knew you weren’t detectives. I could hear you for a long time just outside my window. If you had really been after someone you’d have come in at once. Besides, when I said the door was locked, neither of you asked how the men you pretended you were chasing had got through. Now you’re caught here while I give the alarm.”
    But she had in her momentary triumph at outwitting the two men forgotten about Sam who, standing at one side, had been imperceptibly edging behind her. Now he flung himself suddenly across the bed and as the girl opened her mouth to scream, his big hand closed over it.
    There was a muffled gurgle and the girl reeled backward under his grip. Almost at the same moment Rezaire had wrested the revolver from her grasp. It was of a very old pattern, more of a trophy than a weapon. He gave a snort of disgust as he snapped it open and found it unloaded.
    â€œDamned young fool!” snarled Sam. “Be quiet, will you!” He shook her in his grasp as a terrier shakes a rat.
    â€œWe can’t break open the door,” said Rezaire swiftly. “We’ll have all the house on us. What are we to do?”
    â€œDon’t know,” said Sam shortly. “We must stop this girl giving tongue anyway.” He tore off the pillow slip and stuffed as much of it as he could into her mouth, binding it round her head with a scarf that was lying on a chair. “We’ll have to go back through the window and get into another house, I suppose.”
    â€œBut,” interjected Rezaire, “surely…that’s impossible. Isn’t there anything else we can do?”
    But Sam did not answer. Having gagged the girl, he now proceeded to tie her up with handkerchiefs, and other articles of clothing he took from the drawers, till she lay, helpless, on the bed.
    â€œOtherwise she’ll start to scream,” he explained, “or make a noise of some sort the moment we’re gone. Now, come along.”
    As in a dream Rezaire obeyed. He had not yet gotten over his fall down the roof and the thought of having to venture out there again brought back the same sick feeling of hopeless terror that he had experienced then. “I don’t think—” he began, and realized the hopelessness of his position.
    Sam had turned the gas out and was already half out of the