ext she had felt herself
sink into a soft, delicious embrace, when her senses left her and she
seemed to drop pleasantly through fathomless space.

It was a great crimson chair embroidered with yellow poppies
into which Bateato had dropped his burden, then switched on a
myriad of tiny lamps suspended from the ceiling by slim chains of
different lengths or gleaming from dark niches and embrasures in
the tapestry-hung walls.

All these subdued and colored lights mingled to produce a wonderfully
soft and reposeful effect, and when at last Helen opened her eyes--and
her swoon had been of only a few minutes' duration--she was sure that
the setting was a dream and half expected some impossible creature of
phantasmagoria to rise from the floor and address her.

Then she felt an intermittent draught upon her cheek and looked up to
see Whitney Barnes fanning her with an elaborate contrivance of
peacock feathers that was alleged to have once done duty in the harem
of Abdul Hamid, one-time Sultan of Turkey.

She was not sure at first that this strange looking being who fanned
her in such an amazing fashion was the young friend of the real
Travers Gladwin who had appeared on the scene from time to time during
that fateful afternoon, for his features were far from being in
repose. Positive torture was written on his clean-cut boyish face as
he wielded that fast fan in his handcuffed hands as if it were a task
imposed upon him by some evil spirit.

Certainly there was no grace in the savage gestures of his arms as his
wrists twisted and writhed in their shackles, but he stuck to his task
desperately, now and then hissing over his shoulder at Bateato to
learn why in thunder he didn't find smelling salts or whiskey or
brandy or something with which to restore the young lady to
consciousness.

And on his part, Bateato was racing about like a scared mouse, diving
into mysterious chests and cabinets or under divans or climbing up the
walls to explore recessed shelves. His activities were confined to
that one chamber, for a big, implacable policeman stood at the
entrance, with orders to keep his eye on the young woman and the Jap
and see that they did not escape or attempt to assist the vanished
picture expert in concealing himself or getting away.

As Helen's dazed faculties gradually resumed their normal activities
and she realized that Whitney Barnes was a reality, the humor of the
situation suddenly struck her fancy and she sm