The House of the Falcon
"Will you do me the honor, Edith"—and his voice quivered—"to be my—wife?"
Not Abbas nor all the powers of the Tower could prevent the girl from answering. "Yes." And she was no longer pale.
"You don't happen to know, Donovan," sneered Monsey, "that Rand, her father, has lost his money—is bankrupt?"
Edith was surprised and could not keep from searching Donovan's face. Money was such a slight thing at this moment, and so Donovan plainly considered it. "Really?" His brows went up. "I was not aware—as you seem to be—that Miss Rand possessed wealth.
"You, Monsey, and this man, Abbas Abad," he went on, "are marked down by the Sayaks. You know the belief of the Moslems that each criminal has in Heaven a stone marked with his name that will one day fall upon him no matter where he is. The Sayaks have condemned you to death; there will be fighting before long. You cannot leave the tower. I wish to take Edith Rand away from danger."
Monsey broke into a long laugh. "Oh, you are a fool. Well, Edith Rand won't go away. She will stay, with me. Is that clear?"
A slight shrug answered him. "I wanted to give you the chance, Monsey, to play the gentleman, you know."
The Russian flushed, biting his mustache. He watched his visitor draw an object carefully from his pocket. It was a heavy jade necklace of many folds, set with some inferior turquoise. Donovan laid it on the table, rolled into a ball.
"You remember this?" His words were crisp.
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