Beyond doubt this was the Sheikh Ismail, lineal successor of the devilish Sheikh al- Jebal, and lord of the Hashishin Upon ourselves, particularly, that fero- cious gaze seemed to linger. The atmosphere was positively electrical. It contained, I believe, enough evil force to have destroyed a battalion. I simply dared not contemplate what our fate would be in the event of our discovery. Our lives were in the hands of Weymouth and Petrie! One place remained--that in the centre of the crescent. A gong sounded--once.
The Mandarin Ki Ming came in and seated himself upon the vacant mattress....
I realized that having admitted the mandarin, the Negro doorkeeper had retired and closed the door. A hush of expectancy came. Then, from somewhere beyond the end of the saloon a silver bell sounded--seven times; and the beautiful doors swung open.
A woman appeared at the top of the steps, facing us but backed by shadow....
Her hair was entirely concealed beneath a jewelled headdress. She wore jewels on her slim, bare arms. A heavy girdle which glit- tered with precious stones supported a grotesquely elaborate robe, sewn thickly with emeralds. From proudly raised chin to slight, curving hips she resembled an ivory statue of some Indian goddess. Indeed, as I watched, I knew she was Kali, wife of Siva and patronne of thugs and dacoits, from whom they derived their divine right to slay!
All heads were lowered and a word sounding like a shuddering sigh, but to me unintelligible, passed around the assembly. I was fascinated--hypnotised--carried out of myself--as from under the sheltering cowl I looked and looked... into those brilliant jade-green eyes of Kali... Madame Ingomar! We had posed ourselves in imitation of the other groups:
Nayland Smith reclining beside the black cushion so that his elbow could rest upon it, and I crouching behind him. Any exchange of words at that moment was impossible.
In such a silence that I believe one could have heard the flight of a moth, Fah Lo Suee began to speak. She spoke first in Chinese, then in Turkish, of which I knew a few words. Her audience was spellbound. Her silver bell voice had a hypnotic quality utterly outside the range of my experience. She employed scarcely any gesture. Her breathing could not visually be detected. That slender body retained its ivory illusion. The spell lay in her voice... and in her eyes.
She uttered a phrase in Arabic.
Two strokes of a gong sounded from behind me.
The Mandarin Ki Ming stood up. Fah Lo Suee ceased speaking--and I heard the high, sibilant tones of the Chinaman.
I saw Sheikh Ismail leap to his feet like the old panther he was. I saw his blood-lustful gaze fixed upon mine.
We were discovered! Two gong strokes! The real Tibetans had escaped--were here!
A sickly sweet exotic perfume came to my nostrils. I experienced a sudden sense of pres- sure....
3
The illusion persisted. It seemed to have recurred at intervals for many nights and days, many weeks--for an immeasurable period....
Always, that vague exotic perfume heralded the phase. This, invariably, seemed to arouse me from some state of unconsciousness in which I thought I must have been suspended for long ages. Once, I became victim of a dreadful idea that I had solved the mystery of perpetual life but was condemned to live it in a tomb....
Then, next I saw her--the green goddess with eyes of jade. I knew that her smooth body was but a miraculous gesture of some Eastern craftsman immortalised in ivory; that her cobra hair gleamed so because of inlay and inlay of subtly chosen rare woods: her emerald robe I knew for an effect of cunning light, her movements for a mirage.
But when she knelt beside me, the jade- green eyes held life--cold ivory was warm satin. And slender insidious hands, scented lotus blossoms, touched me caressingly....
At last came true awakening--and memories.
Where was I? Obviously, I must be in the house of the Sheikh Ismail where the Council of Seven had met. I lay on a divan propped up with many cushions, in a room small enough to have been called a cabinet.
If it were day or night I had no means of judging. Heavy plush curtains of green and gold completely obscured what I assumed to be the window. And I felt as weak as a kitten. In fact, when I tried to sit up in order to study my strange surroundings, I failed to do so.
What had happened to me?
I saw that the floor was covered with a thick green carpet, and directly facing the divan on which I lay was a magnificent ormolu piece occupying the whole of one wall. A square lamp or lantern hung from the centre of the ceiling and flooded the room with amber light.
An ebony carved chair, evidently of Chinese workmanship, stood near me beside a glass-topped table upon which were phials, instruments, and other surgical items!
Weakly, I looked down at my body. I wore unfamiliar silk pyjamas and on my feet were soft Chinese slippers! What in heaven's name had happened to me?
Now, memory began to function....
Nayland Smith!
I remembered! I remembered! We had been betrayed--or had betrayed ourselves at that incredible meeting of the Council outside el-Kharga! I recalled the high, soft voice of the dreadful mandarin who had denounced us; the staring eyes of the terrible Sheikh.... I could recall no more.
Where was Nayland Smith? And where were Petrie and Weymouth?
Clearly had some time elapsed, a fact to which my inexplicable change of attire bore witness. But why had no rescue been attempted? Good God!--a truly horrible doubt came-- Weymouth and Petrie had fallen into a trap!
They had never reached el-Kharga! A dreadful certainty followed. They were dead! I alone had been spared for some unknown reason; and apparently I had been, and still remained, very ill.
Inch by inch--in some way I seemed to have lost the power of co-ordinating my muscles--I turned, seeking a view of that side of the room which lay behind me. All I saw was a flat green door set in the dull gold of the wall. There was a second such door, which I had already noted immediately before me.
As I reverted, laboriously to my previous position the latter door opened. It was a sliding door.
A Chinaman came in! He wore a long white coat of the kind used by hospital atten- dants. He closed the door behind him.
One swift look I ventured--noting that he was a comparatively young man with a high intellectual forehead, that he wore black- rimmed spectacles and carried a notebook. Then I closed my eyes and lay still.
He took the chair beside me, raised my wrist, and felt the pulse. As he dropped my hand I ventured on a quick glance. He was recording the pulse in his note-book.
Next, unbuttoning the jacket of my silk pyjamas, he inserted a clinical thermometer under my left armpit and, leaving it there, dipped the point of a syringe into a glass of water and carefully wiped it on a piece of lint. This, also, I witnessed, without being detected.
Engrossed in his tasks, he was not watching me. I saw him load a shot of some nameless drug into the syringe on the table.
I reclosed my eyes.
The Chinese surgeon removed the ther- mometer and recorded my temperature.
There was a long, silent interval. I kept my eyes closed. Something told me that he was intrigued, that he was studying me.
Presently, I felt his head close to my bare chest. He pressed his ear against my heart. I lay still, until:
'Ah, Mr. Greville,' he said, with scarcely a trace of accent, 'you are feeling better, eh?'
I opened my eyes.
The Chinaman was still watching me. His face was quite expressionless as his tones had been.
'Yes,' I said... and my voice refused to function higher than a whisper! 'Good.' He nodded. 'I was becoming anxious about you. It is all right now. The artificial nourishment, I think we may dispense with. Yes, I think so. Do you feel that some very savoury soup and perhaps a small glass of red wine would be acceptable? '
'Definitely!'
My whispering voice positively appalled me!
'I will see to it, Mr. Greville. '
