She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to remain calm. She had a sudden feeling that she wanted to shriek, to yell out her fears and her hatred so that all the world could hear them.

Then, as she thought of screaming, she saw how ridiculous she would appear – caged high above the people down below, who might hear her voice, but would not be able to see her.

“Open the cases,” she said curtly to the Indian girl. “I will choose something to wear.”

There would be time later, she thought, to speculate how the suitcases came to be here and why they had been packed and sent.

Had El Diablo stolen them or had he raided her yacht and taken her crew prisoner? There were so many possibilities.

One thing only mattered at the moment – that she should be decently clothed before she saw him again.

Skye dragged things out at random, refusing everything that was bright or attractive, choosing finally a white silk riding shirt buttoned high at the neck and secured with a plain mannish-looking tie, a severely tailored pair of yachting trousers and a tailored jacket that made her figure appear flat and thin and almost as sexless as a young boy’s.

With her hairbrush, which had come in her dressing case with other articles of toilette, Skye tried to force her hair to lie demurely against her head but the golden curls defeated her, curling riotously round her small ears and slipping back rebelliously against her white forehead as soon as the brush left them.

A pair of low-heeled walking shoes and thick silk stockings completed her outfit and, when at last she was ready, she walked from the bedroom.

She had a moment’s apprehension as she drew back the curtain.

The outer cave was even bigger than she remembered and she saw that on the other side of the room was an opening similar to the one that led to her bedroom and she guessed that this was where El Diablo slept.

She had no time, however, to speculate on anything save that the room was empty. Softly she crossed it and only as she reached the open doorway that led onto the terrace outside did she see that a man stood there.

He was leaning against the wall, but there was a rifle at his side.

With a revolver in a holster, a knife in his belt, he was smoking and watching the business of the camp below him and yet he was on guard!

Skye waited a moment and drew a deep breath. She had to be sure. With an effort she walked to the doorway.

“Buenos dias,” she said to the man, who swept his sombrero from his head.

“Buenos dias, señora.”

Twisting her lips into the semblance of a smile, Skye tried to walk past him, but raising his rifle he barred her way.

“Excusa, señora, El Cabeza commands that you remain inside.”