For the first few tangled moments of nightmare, slowly developing into a live horror, Dominey fancied himself back in Africa, with the hand of an enemy upon his throat.

Then a rush of awakened memories--the silence of the great house, the mysterious rustling of the heavy hangings around the black oak four-poster on which he lay, the faint pricking of something deadly at his throat--these things rolled back the curtain of unreality, brought him acute and painful consciousness of a situation almost appalling.

He opened his eyes, and although a brave and callous man he lay still, paralysed with the fear which forbids motion.

The dim light of a candle, recently lit, flashed upon the bodkin-like dagger held at his throat.

He gazed at the thin line of gleaming steel, fascinated.