me. Is that so?... Can't yer speak, girl? Must ye sit there
just starin' at me with yer big eyes? What are ye lookin' at? Are ye
dumb?"

"No, I'm not dumb," gasped Beth, struggling for her courage, aware all
the while of the physical threat in the man's very presence.

"Speak then. Tell me the truth. Pete said it was your money McGuire
took--your money McGuire's got to make good to ye? Ain't that the
truth?"

"I won't answer."

"Oh, yes, ye will. You'll answer all right. I'm not goin' to trifle.
What did ye come here to see Pete about? What's that letter ye came to
give him? Give it to me!"

Beth clutched the heliotrope note to her bosom but Hawk Kennedy caught
at her hands and tried to tear it away from her. It needed only this new
act of physical violence to give Beth the courage of despair. She sprang
to her feet eluding him but he caught her before she reached the window.
She struck at him with her fists but he tore the letter away from her
and hurled her toward the bed over which she fell breathless. There was
no use trying to fight this man.... There was a cruelty in his touch
which spoke of nameless things.... And so she lay motionless, nursing
her injured wrists, trying desperately to think what she must do.

Meanwhile, watching her keenly from the tail of his eye, Hawk Kennedy
was reading the heliotrope letter, spelling out the English word by
word. Fascinated, Beth saw the frown of curiosity deepen to interest and
then to puzzled absorption.

"Interestin'--very," she heard him mutter at last, as he glanced toward
the bed. "Holy Russia. H----! What's this mean, girl? Who _is_ Peter
Nichols? Answer me."

"I--I don't know," she said.

"Yes, ye do. Where did ye get this letter?"

"He left it at--at my house last night."

"Oh! _Your_ house! Where?"

"In the village."

"I see. An' this scrawl on the envelope--you wrote it----"

Beth couldn't reply. He was dragging her through the very depths of
humiliation.

At her silence his lips curved in ugly amusement.

"Anastasie!" he muttered. "Some queen that--with her purple paper an'
all. And ye don't know who she is? Or who Pete is? Answer me!"

"I--I don't know," she whispered. "I--I don't, really."

"H-m! Well, he ain't what he's seemed to be, that's sure. He ain't what
he's seemed to be to you and he ain't what he's seemed to be to me. But
whoever he is he can't put anything over on _me_. We'll see about this."

Beth straightened and sat up, wa