Her beautiful face a mask of anguish, Miska cowered upon the diwan, watching the closed doors. Fo-Hi stood in the centre of the great room with his back to the entrance. Silently one of the lacquered panels slid open and Chunda Lal entered. He saluted the figure of the veiled Chinaman but never once glanced in the direction of the diwan from which Miska wildly was watching him.  
Without turning his head, Fo-Hi, who seemed to detect the presence of the silent Hindu by means of some fifth sense, pointed to a bundle of long rods stacked in a corner of the room.
 
His brown face expressionless as that of a bronze statue, Chunda Lal crossed and took the rods from their place.
 
"Tum samajhte ho?" (Do you understand?) said Fo-Hi. Chunda Lal inclined his head.
 
"Main tumhari bat manunga" (Your orders shall be obeyed), he replied.
 
"Ah, God! no!" whispered Miska—"what are you going to do?"
 
"Your Hindustani was ever poor, Miska," said Fo-Hi.
 
He turned to Chunda Lal.
 
"Until you hear the gong," he said in English.
 
Miska leapt to her feet, as Chunda Lal, never once glancing at her, went out bearing the rods, and closed the door behind him. Fo-Hi turned and confronted her.
 
"Ta'ala hina (come hither), Miska!" he said softly. "Shall I speak to you in the soft Arab tongue? Come to me, lovely Miska. Let me feel how that sorrowful heart will leap like a captive gazelle."
 
But Miska shrank back from him, pale to the lips.
 
"Very well." His metallic voice sank to a hiss. "I employ no force. You shall yield to me your heart as a love offering. Of such motives as jealousy and revenge you know me incapable. What I do, I do with a purpose. That compassion of yours shall be a lever to cast you into my arms. Your hatred you shall conquer."
 
"Oh, have you no mercy? Is there nothing human in your heart? Did I say I hate you!"
 
"Your eyes are eloquent, Miska. I cherish two memories of those beautiful eyes. One is of their fear and loathing—of me; the other is of their sweet softness when they watched the departure of my guest. Listen! Do you hear nothing?"
 
In an attitude of alert and fearful attention Miska stood listening.
Fo-Hi watched her through the veil with those remorseless blazing eyes.
 
"I will open the door," he said smoothly, "that we may more fully enjoy the protests of one for whom you 'care nothing'—of one whose lips have pressed—your hand."
 
He opened the door by which Chunda Lal had gone out and turned again to Miska. Her eyes looked unnaturally dark by contrast with the pallor of her face.
 
Chunda Lal had betrayed her. She no longer doubted it. For he had not dared to meet her glance. His fear of Fo-Hi had overcome his love for her … and Stuart had been treacherously seized somewhere in the corridors and rendered helpless by the awful art of the thug.
 
"There is a brief interval," hissed the evil voice. "Chunda Lal is securing him to the frame and baring the soles of his feet for the caresses of the rod."
 
Suddenly, from somewhere outside the room, came the sound of dull, regular blows … then, a smothered moan!
 
Miska sprang forward and threw herself upon her knees before Fo-Hi, clutching at his robe frantically.
 
"Ah! merciful God! he is there! Spare him! spare him! No more—no more!"
 
"He is there?" repeated Fo-Hi suavely. "Assuredly he is there, Miska.
I know not by what trick he hoped to 'deal with' Chunda Lal. But, as
I informed you, Chunda Lal was forewarned."
 
The sound of blows continued, followed by that of another, louder groan.
 
"Stop him! Stop him!" shrieked Miska.
 
"You 'care nothing' for this man. Why do you tremble?"
 
"Oh!" she wailed piteously. "I cannot bear it … oh, I cannot bear it! Do what you like with me, but spare him. Ah! you have no mercy."
 
Fo-Hi handed her the hammer for striking the gong.
 
"It is you who have no mercy," he replied. "I have asked but one gift. The sound of the gong will end Dr. Stuart's discomfort … and will mean that you voluntarily accept my offer. What! you hesitate?" A stifled scream rang out sharply.
 
"Ah, yes! yes!"
 
Miska ran and struck the gong, then staggered back to the diwan and fell upon it, hiding her face in her hands. The sounds of torture ceased.
 
Fo-Hi closed the door and stood looking at her where she lay.
 
"I permit you some moments of reflection," he said, "in order that you may compose yourself to receive the addresses which I shall presently have the honour, and joy, of making to you. Yes—this door is unlocked." He threw the keys on the table. "I respect your promise............