which became hers on such nights she held them all spell-bound.
They were her slaves.

Slowly she walked across the apartment while the throbbing of the
Arab drum grew softer and softer, producing a weird effect of
space and distance. All eyes were fixed upon her, and meeting
Grantham's gaze she saw at last the Light there which she knew.
This sudden knowledge of triumph almost unnerved her, and the
rose which she had taken from between her lips trembled in her
white fingers. Two of the petals fell upon the carpet, which was
cream-coloured from the looms of Ispahan. Like blood spots the
petals lay upon the cream surface.

Zahara swung sharply about. Agapoulos, seated alone in the chair
over which he had draped the leopard skin, was busily brushing
his moustache and glancing sideways toward the screen which
concealed Safryeh. Zahara tilted her head on to her shoulder and
cast a languorous glance into the shadows masking the watchful
Spaniard.

She could see his eyes gleaming like those of a wild beast. An
icy finger seemed to touch her heart. He had lied to her! She
knew it, suddenly, intuitively. Well, she would see. She also
had guile.

With a little scornful laugh Zahara tossed the rose on to the
knees--of Agapoulos.

The sound of three revolver shots fired in quick succession rang
out above the throbbing music. Agapoulos clutched at his shirt