Eh, 'how you call--'alf a sovereign.' The money was paid, and the mad dance was held at night in a walled courtyard at the back of Madame Binat's house.

The lady herself, in faded mauve silk always about to slide from her yellow shoulders, played the piano, and to the tin-pot music of a Western waltz the naked Zanzibari girls danced furiously by the light of kerosene lamps.

Binat sat upon a chair and stared with eyes that saw nothing, till the whirl of the dance and the clang of the rattling piano stole into the drink that took the place of blood in his veins, and his face glistened.

Dick took him by the chin brutally and turned that face to the light.

Madame Binat looked over her shoulder and smiled with many teeth.