The House of the Falcon
a forest where the girl wondered how her captors could find their way, not knowing that they had familiarized themselves carefully with the lay of the countryside.
Above the low voices of the men she could hear the stamp of horses near by, the crackle of a fire, and an occasional footfall. Not until Abbas Abad had departed—and Edith recognized in him, without especial surprise, the leader of the men in the Kashgar serai—did Monsey fling off his belt with its holster and revolver and speak to her, seating himself on an upturned packing case, and drawing another forward for her. She remained standing.
"Still haughty, my lady? Ah, you do not know the pains I have taken to save you from the devils of Yakka Arik. Well, I apologize for using you roughly in what you Americans call the 'get-away.' It was necessary. You are quite strong."
His glance went over her, and Edith turned her head away. Monsey leaned back comfortably, stroking his black, drooping mustache idly. He was well pleased with himself, but he was curious as to what the girl thought of him.
"You remember the dance at Srinagar, Edith—the one you—ah—refused me? You see, it would have been much better to have gone with me than that Rawul Singh. But you did not trust me. Do you trust me now?"
"No."
"That is too bad. Why?"
Edith met his gaze with her honest gray eyes, and Monsey looked away.
"I don't know."
Surprised at this unexpected retort, Monsey's brows
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