She had never been in this part of Paris before, only reading of it in the novels of Duvain; or seeing it at the Grand Guignol. So this was the Montmartre? That horror where danger lurked under cover of night, where innocent souls perished without warning -- where doom confronted the unwary -- where the Apache reveled. She moved cautiously in the shadow of the high wall, looking furtively backward for the hidden menace that might be dogging her steps. Suddenly she darted into an alley way, little heeding where it led-groping her way on in the inky blackness, the one thought of eluding the pursuit firmly fixed in her mind -- on she went -- Oh! when would it end? Then a doorway from which a light streamed lent itself to her vision -- In here -- anywhere, she thought. The door stood at the head of a flight of stairs -- stairs that creaked with age, as she endeavoured to creep down -- then she heard the sound of drunken laughter and shuddered -- surely this was -- No, not that! Anything but that!…………