His face was of a grayish pallor and clammy with sweat; his crooked eyes
had the glare of madness. The lithe body of the Eurasian writhing in his
grasp seemed to possess the strength of two strong men; for palpably
the Greek was weakening. His left sleeve was torn to shreds--to bloody
shreds beneath the teeth of the wild thing with which he fought; and
lower, lower, always nearer to the throat of the victim, the slender,
yellow arm forced itself, forced the tiny hand clutching a poniard no
larger than a hatpin but sharp as an adder's tooth.

"Hold her!" whispered Gianapolis in a voice barely audible, as Max burst
into the room. "She came back for this and... I followed her. She has
the strength of... a tigress!"

Max hurled himself into the melee, grasping the wrist of the Eurasian
below where it was clutched by Gianapolis. Nodding to the Greek to
release his hold, he twisted it smartly upward.

The dagger fell upon the floor, and with an animal shriek of rage, the
Eurasian tottered back. Max caught her about the waist and tossed her
unceremoniously into a corner of the room.

Helen Cumberly slipped from the bed, and lay very white and still upon
the garish carpet, with four tiny red streams trickling from the nail
punctures in her throat. Max stooped and raised her shoulders; he
glanced at the Greek, who, quivering in all his limbs, and on the verge
of collapse, only kept himself upright by dint of clutching at the side
of the doorway. Max realized that Gianapolis was past aiding him; his
own resources were nearly exhausted, but, stooping, he managed to lift
the girl and to carry her out into the corridor.

"Follow me!" he gasped, glancing back at Gianapolis; "Morbleu, make an
effort! The keys--the keys!"

Laying Helen Cumberly upon one of the raised divans, with her head
resting upon a silken cushion, Max, teeth tightly clenched and
dreadfully conscious that his strength was failing him, waited for
Gianapolis. Out from the corridor the Greek came staggering, and Max now
perceived that he was bleeding profusely from a wound in the breast.

"She came back," whispered Gianapolis, clutching at the Frenchman for
support... "the hellcat!... I did not know... that... Miss Cumberly
was here. As God is my witness I did not know! But I followed...
HER--Mahara... thank God I did! She has finished me, I think, but"--he
lowered the crooked eyes to the form of Helen Cumberly--"never mind...
Saints!"

He reeled and sank upo