"As Sir Charles Moon's life was ended; as Durwin's life was cut short; as Penn was disposed of, and as Lord Curberry was dispatched."
"Well, no. Curberry poisoned himself because he feared that everything was about to come out."
"As it will."
"Probably," said Queen Beelzebub indifferently, "but there are yet some hours before the end. No, my friend, you will not die like those you have mentioned. Your cleverness demands a more ingenious death."
"You are a very clever woman," said Dan, finishing his glass of port. "I am. You will admire my cleverness when you----" she checked herself and laughed. "I knew a Chinese mandarin once and he told me many things, Mr. Halliday. You can guess what he told me."
"Something about torture?" said Dan, lighting his pipe, "quite so. You go to the Chinese to learn how to hurt a man. I thought you were more original." Miss Armour sneered. "Isn't this indifference rather overdone, Mr. Halliday?"
"Well, it is a trifle. I'm in a blue funk, and can you blame me," he shuddered, "a man doesn't like to die by inches, you know. However, as we understand one another, suppose we wile away the time by your telling me how you came to start this damned gang of yours."
"My dear young friend, I admire your courage so much that I can refuse you nothing," mocked Miss Armour, wincing as she moved her broken arm. "I really should be in bed with my hurt."
"You'll get feverish if you don't lay up," Dan advised her. "Oh, I don't think so. I know about other drugs than the Sumatra scent, Mr. Halliday. Of course, a broken arm," she added with a sigh, "can't be mended by all the drugs in the world. Time alone can put it right, and, thanks to you, I shan't have time to get cured. If you had only fought with me instead of against me, this would not have happened. Well, my society----"
"Yes. What about your society?" questioned Dan, politely and easily. Queen Beelzebub cast an admiring look in his direction and began to speak in a quiet lady-like manner, as though she were presiding at a tea-table, and the subject of conversation was quite an ordinary one. "I was left an orphan at an early age," she said leisurely, "poor and honest and friendless. For years I led what you fools call a decent life, earning my bread by going out as a governess. But poverty and honesty did not please me, especially since the first was the outcome of the last. I never wished to marry, as I did not care for men. I did not wish for society, or fame, or flirtation, or, indeed, anything a woman usually longs for. I desired power!" and as she uttered the last word an infernal expression of pride came over her white and delicate face. "Power for a bad purpose?"