eparated the garden from the road was a hundred
yards away. She knew it must be the road because of a little brown gate
which from time to time she saw between the swaying bushes. She turned
wearily from the window and sat on the edge of the bed. She was not
afraid--irritated would be a better word to describe her emotion. She
was mystified, too, and that was an added irritation.

Why should this man, van Heerden, who admittedly did not love her, who
indeed loved her so little that he could strike her and show no signs of
remorse--why did this man want to marry her? If he wanted to marry her,
why did he kidnap her?

There was another question, too, which she had debated that night. Why
did his reference to the American detective, Beale, so greatly embarrass
her?

She had reached the point where even such tremendous subjects of debate
had become less interesting than the answer to that question which was
furnished, when a knock came to her door and a gruff voice said:

"Breakfast!"

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. The man called Gregory was
standing on the landing. He jerked his thumb to the room opposite.

"You can use both these rooms," he said, "but you can't come downstairs.
I have put your breakfast in there."

She followed the thumb across the landing and found herself in a plainly
furnished sitting-room. The table had been laid with a respectable
breakfast, and until she had appeased her healthy young appetite she
took very little stock of her surroundings.

The man came up in half an hour to clear away the table.

"Will you be kind enough to tell me where I am?" asked Oliva.

"I am not going to tell you anything," said Gregory.

"I suppose you know that by detaining me here you are committing a very
serious crime?"

"Tell it to the doctor," said the man, with a queer little smile.

She followed him out to the landing. She wanted to see what sort of
guard was kept and what possibilities there were of escape. Somehow it
seemed easier to make a reconnaissance now under his very eyes than it
had been in the night, when in every shadow had lurked a menace.

She did not follow him far, however. He put down the tray at the head of
the stairs and reaching out both his hands drew two sliding doors from
the wall and snapped them in her face. She heard the click of a door and
knew that any chance of escape from this direction was hopeless. The
doors had slid noiselessly on their oiled runners and h