table-land of rock and moss and fern.

As she came out upon the level, the man behind her took both her arms
and pulled them back and somebody bandaged her eyes. Then a hand closed
on her left arm and, so guided, she stumbled and crept forward across
the rocks for a few moments until her guide halted her and forced her
into a sitting position on a smooth, flat boulder.

She heard the crunching of heavy feet all around her, whispering made
hoarse by breath exhausted, movement across rock and scrub, retreating
steps.

For an interminable time she sat there alone in the hot sun, drenched to
the skin in sweat, listening, thinking, striving to find a reason for
this lawless outrage.

After a long while she heard somebody coming across the rocks, stiffened
as she listened with some vague presentiment of evil.

Somebody had halted beside her. After a pause she was aware of nimble
fingers busy with the bandage over her eyes.

At first, when freed, the light blinded her. By degrees she was able to
distinguish the rocky crest of Star Peak, with the tops of tall trees
appearing level with the rocks from depths below.

Then she turned, slowly, and looked at the man who had seated himself
beside her.

He wore a white mask over a delicate, smoothly shaven face.

His soft hat and sporting clothes were dark grey, evidently new. And
she noticed his hands -- long, elegantly made, smooth, restless, plating
with a pencil and some sheets of paper on his knees.

As she met his brilliant eyes behind the mask, his delicate, thin lips
grew tense in what seemed to be a smile -- or a soundless sort of laugh.

"Veree happee," he said, "to make the acquaintance. Pardon my
unceremony, miss, but onlee necissitee compels. Are you, perhaps, a
little rested?"

"Yes."

"Ah! Then, if you permit, we proceed with affairs of moment. You will
be sufficiently kind to write down what I say. Yes?"

He placed paper and pencil in Eve's hand. Without demurring or
hesitation she made ready to write, her mind groping wildly for the
reason of it all.

"Write," he said, with his silent laugh which was more like the
soundless snarl of a lynx unafraid:

"To Mike Clinch, my fathaire, from his child Eve. ... I am hostage, held
by Jose Quintana. Pay what you owe him and I go free.

"For each day delay he sends you one finger which will be severed from
my right hand----"

Eve's slender fingers trembled; she looked up at the masked man, stare