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"It's my sketch," admitted Elinor in a low tone. "I missed it the next day, but I thought Miss Pat had dropped it when she brought my things home to me. My study was almost done, and I forgot all about it after that.",

"And now a word about this poison. It does not kill, but merely places its victim in a trance state, which so closely resembles death that not even the most expert doctor can tell the difference. If the trance continues the victim dies; but there is an antidote--which, by the way, I obtained from Dido--and this antidote, if used in time, can restore the victim from a state of catalepsy to his pristine vigor. I had made up my mind to use the devil-stick, and so, as I was anxious to give Mr. Alymer a chance to escape, I prophesied to him a state of life-in-death. This phrase describes exactly the trance state of those wounded by the devil-stick--impregnated with its poison.,

After breakfast, therefore, the major wrote two notes. One for Arkel, asking him to be at "Ashantee" by noon, as the writer had important matters to discuss; the other for Etwald, requesting him to call and see Jaggard, who, added Jen, significantly in the letter, had recovered his senses. Having thus prepared his trap for the doctor to walk into, Jen delivered the letters to Battersea, with instructions to set off at once for Deanminster. The tramp, anxious to keep in favor with Jen for cupboard reasons, lost no time in departing, and when the major had seen him safely out of the gates, he took his way toward "The Wigwam" for the all-important interview with Dido.,

"To be queen of the black witches of Obi, no doubt. Faugh!"

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"You don't budge from there, young lady, till you've given us a song," declared Griffin, vigorously. "We know your dark secrets. We've heard that you can warble a bit.",

"How would you manage it, Sherlock?" asked Patricia. "Give us a hint of your method, and we may be able to locate the fiend ourselves.",

Patricia made a laughing face.,

Miss Jinny had been quietly removing her outer coverings and as Griffin spoke she dropped her last concealing wrap, and stepped out in turban and embroidered jacket, vermillion girdle and wide, baggy blue trousers whose voluminous folds almost hid the vermillion and gold tips of her curling slippers. A simitar was thrust fiercely through the flaming girdle, and a gaudy hookah cuddled in the crook of her arm, while the bristling whiskers and encarmined cheeks and nose of the weather-beaten seafarer proclaimed a strong masculine personality in striking contrast to the pretty young men Turks and Persians that tittered in feminine fashion all about her.