Buddha-like.

"This way, miss," said the chauffeur, affably.

"You are an American?"

"Whenever it pays."

Presently Kitty found herself in the attic, alone. They hadn't touched
her; so much was gained. Poor little fool that she was! It was fairly
dark now, but overhead she could see the dim outlines of the scuttle
or trap. The attic was empty except for a few pieces of lumber and some
soap boxes. She determined to investigate the trap at once, before they
came again.

She placed two soap boxes on end and laid a plank across. After testing
its stability she mounted. She could reach the trap easily, with plenty
of leverage to spare. She was confident that she could draw herself
up to the roof. She sought for the hooks and liberated them, then she
placed her palms against the trap and heaved. Not even a creak answered
her. She pressed upward again and again. The trap was immovable.

Light. She turned, to behold Kariov in the doorway, a candlestick in his
hand. "The scuttle is covered with cement, Miss Conover. Nobody can get
in or out."

Kitty got down, her knees uncertain. If he touched her! Oh, the fool she
had been!

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked through dry lips.

"You are to me a bill of exchange, payable in something more precious
to me than gold. I am going to keep you here until you are ransomed. The
ransom is the man you have been shielding. If he isn't here by midnight
you vanish. Oh, we shan't harm you. Merely you will disappear until my
affairs in America are terminated. You are clever and resourceful for so
young a woman. You will understand that we are not going to turn aside.
You are not a woman to me; you are a valuable pawn. You are something to
bargain for."

"I understand," said Kitty, her heart trying to burst through. It seemed
impossible that Karlov should not hear the thunder. To placate him, to
answer his questions, to keep him from growing angry!

"I thought you would." Karlov set the candle on Kitty's impromptu
stepladder. "We saw your interest in the affair, and attacked you on
that side. You had seen me once. Being a newspaper writer--the New York
kind--you would not rest until you learned who I was. You would not
forget me. You were too well guarded uptown. You have been out of
the city for a week. We could not find where. You were reported seen
entering your office this morning; and here you are. My one fear was
that you might not see me. Personally you will have