Then a voice came,--a slow, feminine and rather wonderful voice.
"If you move," it said, "you will die.

Remain quite still." Dominey was fully conscious now, his brain at work, calculating his chances with all the cunning of the trained hunter who seeks to avoid death.

Reluctantly he was compelled to realise that no movement of his could be quick enough to prevent the driving of that thin stiletto into his throat, if his hidden assailant should keep her word.

So he lay still.
"Why do you want to kill me ?" he asked, a little tensely.
There was no reply, yet somehow he knew that he was being watched.

Ever so slightly those curtains around which the arm had come, were being parted.