I spoke no word, and Smith was as silent as I; both of us, I think,
were speechless rather from amazement than in obedience to the
evident wishes of Fu-Manchu's slave-girl. Yet I have only to close my
eyes at this moment to see her as she stood, one finger raised to her
lips, enjoining us to silence. She looked ghastly pale in the light of
the lamp, but so lovely that my rebellious heart threatened already to
make a fool of me.
So we stood in that untidy studio, with canvases and easels heaped
against the wall and with all sorts of litter about us, a trio
strangely met, and one to have amused the high gods watching through
the windows of the stars.
"Go back!" came in a whisper from Karamaneh.
I saw the red lips moving and read a dreadful horror in the widely
opened eyes, in those eyes like pools of mystery to taunt the thirsty
soul. The world of realities was slipping past me; I seemed to be
losing my hold on things actual; I had built up an Eastern palace
about myself and Karamaneh, wherein, the world shut out, I might pass
the hours in reading the mystery of those dark eyes. Nayland Smith
brought me sharply to my senses.
"Steady with the light, Petrie!" he hissed in my ear. "My scepticism
has been shaken to-night, but I am taking no chances."
He moved from my side and forward toward that lovely, unreal figure
which stood immediately before the model's throne and its background
of plush curtains.
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