With an effort she forced herself to drink a little of the soup that was flavoured with a fresh green vegetable not unlike asparagus. She could not face another dish, but sipped the yerba maté, which was biting hot on the tongue.

She had already a taste for the roasted crushed leaves of the yerba plant, which is the national drink of the South Americans. Skye liked the little tube with a bulbous end through which the yerba was sucked from the ground leaves.

The tube was usually of silver, but the maté the Indian girl had brought her had one of gold. She felt the drink stimulate and invigorate her so that it was not too difficult to say graciously,

“Thank you, that has made me feel better! What is your name?”

“Neengai, señora.”

“What a pretty name! Will you bring some water so that I can wash, Neengai?”

The Indian girl brought a big earthenware jug full of warm water and, while Skye washed, she moved around the room picking up her riding clothes from the floor and tidying her things.

“Now my clothes, Neengai!” Skye said when she had dried herself.

The Indian girl nodded her head.

“Your clothes, señora. Yes, they come. I bring to you.”

She ran from the room and Skye looked towards the window. How was she to escape?

The words seemed to repeat themselves over and over again in her mind! Or would he let her go? That was another question.

“I hate him! God, how I hate him!”

She said the words out loud, yet they gave her no relief and no satisfaction. They only sounded empty and weak.

“Your clothes, señora.”

The Indian girl spoke from the doorway and then came staggering into the room carrying a heavy suitcase.

Skye gave an exclamation that seemed to come like a pistol shot from between her lips. She recognised the case – and why not?

She had bought it on Fifth Avenue only six months ago with a dozen others to match it.

“Where did that come from?”

Her voice, in her surprise, sounded high and querulous.

“There are more, señora. Two more.”

The Indian girl made two more journeys. Skye heard her speak in Indian to someone in the outer room, who obviously handed her the cases and then she pulled the curtain to and turned to Skye with an eagerness that was very feminine.

“I unpack for the señora?”

“How did these get here?” Skye strove to speak calmly.

“Men bring them just two minutes ago,” the Indian girl answered.

“And where did they get them from?” Skye enquired and then she knew that she had no hope of an answer even as she asked the question.

What would this girl know of what was happening?