than he had imagined. He noticed a knife scar on her forearm.
"You 're after this man called Binhart," she declared.
"Oh, no, I 'm not," was Blake's sagacious response. "I don't want Binhart!"
"Then what do you want?"
"I want the money he 's got."
The little painted face grew serious; then it became veiled.
"How much money has he?"
"That 's what I want to find out!"
She squatted ruminatively down on the edge of her divan. It was low and wide and covered with orange-colored silk.
"Then you'll have to find Binhart!" was her next announcement.
"Maybe!" acknowledged Blake.
"I can show you where he is!"
"All right," was the unperturbed response. The blue-painted eyes were studying him.
"It will be worth four thousand pounds, in English gold," she announced.
Blake took a step or two nearer her.