In an attitude of alert and fearful attention Miska stood listening.
Fo-Hi watched her through the veil with those remorseless blazing eyes.
"I will open the door," he said smoothly, "that we may more fully enjoy the protests of one for whom you 'care nothing'—of one whose lips have pressed—your hand."
He opened the door by which Chunda Lal had gone out and turned again to Miska. Her eyes looked unnaturally dark by contrast with the pallor of her face.
Chunda Lal had betrayed her. She no longer doubted it. For he had not dared to meet her glance. His fear of Fo-Hi had overcome his love for her … and Stuart had been treacherously seized somewhere in the corridors and rendered helpless by the awful art of the thug.
"There is a brief interval," hissed the evil voice. "Chunda Lal is securing him to the frame and baring the soles of his feet for the caresses of the rod."
Suddenly, from somewhere outside the room, came the sound of dull, regular blows … then, a smothered moan!
Miska sprang forward and threw herself upon her knees before Fo-Hi, clutching at his robe frantically.
"Ah! merciful God! he is there! Spare him! spare him! No more—no more!"
"He is there?" repeated Fo-Hi suavely. "Assuredly he is there, Miska.
I know not by what trick he hoped to 'deal with' Chunda Lal. But, as
I informed you, Chunda Lal was forewarned."
The sound of blows continued, followed by that of another, louder groan.