Amaryllis gasped and shuddered, giving fuel to the blaze, so that it crackled once more into fierce indiscretion.
"I tell you things. Oh, yes, I tell. For the last one that died—it was a pity. He did not know before—knew not ever what was coming to him and to each part of him. That spoil the flavour of my dish, do you see?"
A flourish of the knife put expressive finish to the words.
Amaryllis backed into the corner between bed and door, speaking any word that came. On equal terms she would have fought for life like a cat, but the knife——
"Mr. Melchard doesn't want me to be killed," she said.
For a moment Fridji's rage choked her.
"I'll scream, and he'll come with his men."
"With this I have sent him running from your door," cried Fridji. "It is locked this side, and you will bleed to die before they break it."
Not rushing, but creeping, Dutch Fridji approached.
Amaryllis raised her eyes towards the window and the strip of sky it framed, in silent supplication. And already, half through the window, she saw her answer.