manage that," she answered confidently.

"But how----?"

"You'll see. Just leave it to me."

Orme smiled to himself, there in the darkness. Of course, he would leave
it to her; but he did not see how she was to rid him of the watchful
Japanese.

"There's just one thing," he whispered. "Whatever is done, will have to
be done without help from outside. This is not a matter for the police."

"I understand. Why can't you just leave it to me? I don't believe you
trust me a little bit!"

"But I do," he protested. "I am absolutely in your hands."

He heard her sigh faintly. "I'm going to put down the window now," she
said. "It ain't safe for me to stand here talking to you unless I do.
That Arima fellow might pop up the fire-escape any time."

She was back in a few moments. He had heard the window creak down, and
had wondered whether the action would add to Arima's suspicion.

"If he comes up now," she explained in an undertone, "the glare on the
outside of the window will keep him from seeing in very plain."

After that she did not speak for some time, but the occasional movements
of her body, as she leaned against the panel, were audible to Orme. He
found himself wondering about her--how she had happened to take up the
career of fortune-telling. She must have been a handsome woman; even now
she was not unattractive.

The delay grew more and more irksome. It seemed to Orme as though he had
been behind the panel for hours. After a while he asked:

"What time is it?"

"About two o'clock. Ain't you hungry?"

Orme laughed softly. "I hadn't thought about it."

"Wait a minute." She moved away. When she returned she pulled up the
hanging and opened the panel. In her hand was a thick sandwich. "I was
just going to eat my own lunch when you came back through the window,"
she explained.

He took the sandwich. She looked at him boldly. He was standing close to
her in the opening. There was an expression that was almost defiant in
her eyes. "I--I want my present."

"You shall have it, Madame Alia," he said.

"You ain't my kind--and it won't make no difference to you." Her voice
faltered and her eyes dropped. "I want you to kiss me."

Orme looked at her, and understood. He put his arms around her and kissed
her gently on the lips. There was no disloyalty in it. He was simply
satisfying the craving of this poor woman's soul--a craving for a tribute
to which she could always revert as the symbol of a high friendlines