front of Diana, looking at her strangely.

She flung out her hands instinctively, shrinking further back among the
cushions, her eyes wavering under his. "What are you going to do to
me?" she whispered involuntarily, with dry lips.

He looked at her without answering for a while, as if to prolong the
torture she was enduring, and a cruel look crept into his eyes. "That
depends on what happens to Gaston," he said at length slowly.

"Gaston?" she repeated stupidly. She had forgotten the valet, in all
that had occurred since the morning she had forgotten his very
existence.

"Yes--Gaston," he said sternly. "You do not seem to have thought of
what might happen to him."

She sat up slowly, a puzzled look coming into her face. "What could
happen to him?" she asked wonderingly.

He dragged back the flap of the tent and pointed out into the darkness.
"Over there in the south-west, there is an old Sheik whose name is
Ibraheim Omair. His tribe and mine have been at feud for generations.
Lately I have learned that he has been venturing nearer than he has
ever before dared. He hates me. To capture my personal servant would be
more luck than he could have hoped for."

He dropped the flap and began walking up and down again. There was a
sinister tone in his voice that made Diana suddenly comprehend the
little Frenchman's peril. Ahmed Ben Hassan was not the man to be easily