Monty and Fred went out to see the waterfront by moonlight.
We had reached our door (he and I shared one great room) when we heard terrific screams from the floor above--a woman's--one after another, piercing, fearful, hair-raising, and so suggestive in that gloomy, grim building that a man's very blood stood still.
Yerkes was the first upstairs.

He went like an arrow from a bow, and I after him.

The screams had stopped before we reached the stairhead, but there was no doubting which her room was; the door was partly open, permitting a view of armchairs and feminine garments in some disorder.

We heard a man talking loud quick Arabic, and a woman--pleading, I thought.

Yerkes rapped on the door.
"Come in!" said a voice, and I followed Yerkes in.
We were met by her Syrian maid, a creature with gazelle eyes and timid manner, who came through the doorway leading to an inner room.
"What's the trouble ?" demanded Yerkes, and the woman signed to us to go on in.