"But if they come again----?"
"I think they will be satisfied with this. But it will not do to stay here too long. We will see. At present, since you are awake, I will go down and make some inquiries."
The sun had been up many hours, a brilliant summer day of blue and gold. Rowland cautiously brought his head up to the level of the window-sill, looking out, but the houses upon the opposite side of the street were small and this window was in no danger of observation. So he straightened and went over to Zoya, for the sound of voices had awakened her and she had turned on her bed. He felt her pulse and at the light touch of his fingers she turned her head and opened her eyes.
"Ah, Philippe," she sighed gently.
"You are feeling better?" he asked cheerfully.
"I--I am not sure," she murmured. "I ache--how I ache--from head to foot--Oh--!" She tried to move her bandaged shoulder and gasped, "I remember--him!"
"You are quite safe," he said reassuringly, "in the hands of friends."
"Safe--no, not safe, Philippe----" she muttered, "not safe while he is alive."
"Who?"
"Von Stromberg." She started up feverishly. "He fell. But as I went out of the window, I--I saw him rise. It--it is impossible to escape him----"