“Good night, M. Gaston!” said Gianapolis,
in radiant benediction.
“Au revoir, monsieur!”
M. Max followed Ho-Pin to Block A and was conducted
to a room at the extreme right of the matting-lined
corridor. He glanced about it curiously.
“If you will pwrepare for your flight into the
subliminal,” said Ho-Pin, bowing in the doorway,
“I shall pwresently wreturn with your wings.”
In the cave of the golden dragon, Gianapolis sat smoking
upon one of the divans. The silence of the place
was extraordinary; unnatural, in the very heart of
busy commercial London. Ho-Pin reappeared and
standing in the open doorway of Block A sharply clapped
his hands three times.
Said, the Egyptian, came out of the door at the further
end of the place, bearing a brass tray upon which
were a little brass lamp of Oriental manufacture wherein
burned a blue spirituous flame, a Japanese, lacquered
box not much larger than a snuff-box, and a long and
most curiously carved pipe of wood inlaid with metal
and having a metal bowl. Bearing this, he crossed
the room, passed Ho-Pin, and entered the corridor
beyond.
“You have, of course, put him in the observation
room?” said Gianapolis.
Ho-Pin regarded the speaker unemotionally.
“Assuwredly,” he replied; “for since
he visits us for the first time, Mr. King will wish
to see him"...
A faint shadow momentarily crossed the swarthy face
of the Greek at mention of that name—Mr.
King. The servants of Mr. King, from the
highest to the lowest, served him for gain... and from
fear.
MAHARA
Utter silence had claimed again the cave of the golden
dragon. Gianapolis sat alone in the place, smoking
a cigarette, and gazing crookedly at the image on
the ivory pedestal. Then, glancing at his wrist-watch,
he stood up, and, stepping to the entrance door, was
about to open it...
“Ah, so! You go—already?”—
Gianapolis started back as though he had put his foot
upon a viper, and turned.
The Eurasian, wearing her yellow, Chinese dress, and
with a red poppy in her hair, stood watching him through
half-shut eyes, slowly waving her little fan before
her face. Gianapolis attempted the radiant smile,
but its brilliancy was somewhat forced tonight.
“Yes, I must be off,” he said hurriedly;
“I have to see someone—a future client,
I think!”
“A future client—yes!”—the
long black eyes were closed almost entirely now.
“Who is it—this future client, that
you have to see?”
“My dear Mahara! How odd of you to ask
that"...
“It is odd of me?—so!... It
is odd of me that I thinking to wonder why you alway
running away from me now?”
“Run away from you! My dear little Mahara!”—He
approached the dusky beauty with a certain timidity
as one might seek to caress a tiger-cat—“Surely
you know"...
