“Don’t start thanking God too soon,” said Stella with ominous calm. “Oh, you little fool, why did you come here?”

“He brought me. I didn’t want to come,” said Adele.

She was half hysterical in her fright. She tried hard to imitate the calm of her companion, biting her quivering lips to keep them still, and after a while she was calm enough to tell what had happened. Stella’s face clouded.

“Of course, he took my car,” she said, speaking to herself, “and he has caught the chauffeur, as he said he would. Oh, my God!”

“What will he do?” asked Adele in a whisper.

Stella’s fine eyes turned on the girl.

“What do you think he will do?” she asked significantly. “He’s a beast⁠—the kind of beast you seldom meet except in books⁠—and locked rooms. He’ll have no more mercy on you than Bhag would have on you.”

“If Michael knows, he will kill him.”

“Michael? Oh, Brixan, you mean?” said Stella with newly awakened interest. “Is he fond of you? Is that why he hangs around the lot? That never struck me before. But what does he care about Michael or any other man? He can run⁠—his yacht is at Southampton, and he depends a lot upon his wealth to get him out of these kind of scrapes. And he knows that decent women shrink from appearance in a police court. Oh, he’s got all sorts of defences. He’s a worm, but a scaly worm!”

“What shall I do?”

Stella was walking up and down the narrow apartment, her hands clasped before her, her eyes sunk to the ground.

“I don’t think he’ll hurt me.” And then, inconsequently, she went off at a tangent: “I saw a tramp at that window two hours ago.”

“A tramp?” said the bewildered girl.

Stella nodded.

“It scared me terribly, until I remembered his eyes. They were Brixan’s eyes, though you’d never guess it, the makeup was so wonderful.”

“Michael? Is he here?” asked the girl eagerly.

“He’s somewhere around. That is your salvation, and there’s another.”

She took down from a shelf a small Browning.

“Did you ever fire a pistol?”

The girl nodded.

“I have to, in one scene,” she said a little awkwardly.

“Of course! Well, this is loaded. That”⁠—she pointed⁠—“is the safety catch. Push it down with your thumb before you start to use it. You had better kill Penne⁠—better for you, and better for him, I think.”

The girl shrank back in horror.

“Oh, no, no!”

“Put it in your pocket⁠—have you a pocket?”

There was one inside the blue cloak the girl was wearing, and into this Stella dropped the pistol.

“You don’t know what sort of sacrifice I’m making,” she said frankly, “and it isn’t as though I’m doing it for somebody I’m fond of, because I’m not particularly fond of you, Adele Leamington. But I wouldn’t be fit to live if I let that brute get you without a struggle.”

And then impulsively she stooped forward and kissed the girl, and Adele put her arms about her neck and clung to her for a second.

“He’s coming,” whispered Stella Mendoza, and stepped back with a gesture.

It was Gregory⁠—Gregory in his scarlet pyjama jacket and purple dressing-gown, his face aflame, his eyes fired with excitement.

“Come on, you!” He crooked his finger. “Not you, Mendoza: you stay here, eh? You can see her after, perhaps⁠—after supper.”

He leered down at the shrinking girl.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you. Leave your cloak here.”

“No, I’ll wear it,” she said.

Her hand went instinctively to the butt of the pistol and closed upon it.

“All right, come as you are. It makes no difference to me.”

He held her tightly by the hand and marched by her side, surprised and pleased that she offered so little resistance. Down into the hall they went, and then to the little drawing-room adjoining his study. He flung open the door and showed her the gaily decorated table, pushing her into the room before him.

“Wine and a kiss!” he roared, as he pulled the cork from a champagne bottle and sent the amber fluid splashing upon the spotless tablecloth. “Wine and a kiss!” He splashed the glass out to her so that it spilt and trickled down her cloak.

She shook her head mutely.

“Drink!” he snarled, and she touched the glass with her lips.

Then, before she could realize what had happened, she was in his arms, his great face pressed down to hers. She tried to escape from the encirclement of his embrace, successfully averted her mouth and felt his hot lips pressing against her cheek.

Presently he let her go, and, staggering to the door, kicked it shut. His fingers were closing on the key handle when:

“If you turn that key I’ll kill you.”

He looked up in ludicrous surprise, and, at the sight of the pistol in the girl’s hand, his big hands waved before his face in a gesture of fear.

“Put it down, you fool!” he squealed. “Put it down! Don’t you know what you’re doing? The damned thing may go off by accident.”

“It will not go off by accident,” she said. “Open that door.”

He hesitated for a moment, and then her thumb tightened on the safety-catch, and he must have seen the movement.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” he screamed, and flung the door wide open. “Wait, you fool! Don’t go out. Bhag is there. Bhag will get you. Stay with me. I’ll⁠—”

But she was flying down the corridor. She slipped on a loose rug in the hall but recovered herself. Her trembling hands were working at the bolts and chains; the door swung open, and in another instant she was in the open, free.

Sir Gregory followed her. The shock of her escape had sobered him, and all the tragic consequences which might follow came crowding in upon him, until his very soul writhed in fear. Dashing back to his study, he opened his safe, took out a bundle of notes. These he thrust into the pocket of a fur-lined overcoat that was hanging in a cupboard and put it on. He changed his slippers for thick shoes, and then bethought him of Bhag. He opened the den, but Bhag was not there, and he raised his shaking fingers to his lips. If Bhag caught her!

Some glimmering of a lost manhood stirred dully in his mind. He must first be sure of Bhag. He went out into the darkness in search of his strange and horrible servant. Putting both hands to his mouth, he emitted a long and painful howl, the call that Bhag had never yet disobeyed, and then waited. There was no answer. Again he sent forth the melancholy sound, but, if Bhag heard him, for the first time in his life he did not obey.

Gregory Penne stood in a sweat of fear, but, so standing, recovered some of his balance. There was time to change. He went up to his ornate bedroom, flung off his pyjamas, and in a short space of time was down again in the dark grounds, seeking for the ape.

Dressed, he felt more of a man. A long glass of whisky restored some of his confidence. He rang for the servant who was in charge of his car.

“Have the machine by the postern gate,” he said. “Get it there at once. See that the gate is open: I may have to leave tonight.”

That he would be arrested he did not doubt. Not all his wealth, his position, the pull he had in the county, could save him. This latest deed of his was something more than eccentricity.

Then he remembered that Stella Mendoza was still in the house, and went up to see her. A glance at his face told her that something unusual had happened.

“Where is Adele?” she asked instantly.

“I don’t know. She escaped⁠—she had a pistol. Bhag went after her. God knows what will happen if he finds her. He’ll tear her limb from limb. What’s that?”

It was the faint sound of a pistol shot at a distance, and it came from the back of the house.

“Poachers,” said Gregory uneasily. “Listen, I’m going.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“That’s no damned business of yours,” he snarled. “Here’s some money.” He thrust some notes into her hand.

“What have you done?” she whispered in horror.

“I’ve done nothing, I tell you,” he stormed. “But they’ll take me for it. I’m going to get to the yacht. You’d better clear before they come.”

She was collecting her hat and gloves when she heard the door close and the key turn. Mechanically he had locked her in, and mechanically took no heed of her beating hand upon the panel of the door.

Griff Towers stood on high ground and commanded a view of the byroad from Chichester. As he stood in the front of the house, hoping against hope that he would see the ape, he saw instead two lights come rapidly along the road.

“The police!” he croaked, and went blundering across the kitchen garden to the gate.