quite unsuspectingly, obeyed. Next second the door crashed to, and she heard a key turn in the lock. She was trapped!

Before she could recover from her astonishment there was a rush of feet behind her, and she found herself seized in a grip which, as she at once recognised, it was far beyond her strength to shake off. She struggled frantically, but in vain. She was hopelessly overpowered and swiftly bound, and laid, gagged and helpless, on a sofa in the corner of the room. Then for the first time she caught sight of her captor. She recognised him at once. It was Barakoff himself! Worse still, he knew her!

The man was mad with rage, his face convulsed and his eyes blazing with fury.

“So, Mademoiselle Pasquet! We meet at last!” he snarled, stooping over her until his face was within a foot of her own and she could feel his hot breath upon her cheek. “But it is for the first—and last time!”

Accustomed as she was to danger in many forms, Yvette could not repress a shudder. In the power of a ruffian like Barakoff! She knew, of course, that at any moment Jules might become suspicious of her long absence and come in search of her. But how long would he be and what might happen in the meantime?

Barakoff set swiftly to work and fixed inside the doors heavy bars which, as Yvette realised with a sinking heart, would effectually shut out anyone trying to gain admittance, until either the door was reduced to splinters or a hole was knocked in the wall. Then he picked her up without an effort and carried her into the adjoining room. This, to Yvette’s intense surprise, was elaborately fitted up as a chemical laboratory, with all kinds of strange instruments and apparatus. It was evident that it had long been used for this purpose.

With an evil sneer Barakoff took from a cupboard what Yvette had no difficulty in recognising as one of the poison bombs! This he placed on a table and attached to it a short length of fuse. Then he began to busy himself with what seemed to be preparations for leaving, packing a few articles of clothing in a small bag and laying it down with a heavy coat beside it.

“When night comes, I go,” he said. “But you—you will remain. But I shall leave you in good company, mademoiselle,” and he pointed to the deadly bomb. “You will not feel dull. And after I am gone you will die—very slowly—of the twisted arms.”

For a few minutes the miscreant sat silent, smoking a cigarette and regarding Yvette with a look of 

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