Dope | Page 7

be more than a few minutes."
She walked through the doorway, the Egyptian standing aside as she passed. He followed
her, but came out again almost immediately, reclosed the door, and retired into the
cabinet, which was evidently his private cubicle.
Silence claimed the apartment. Sir Lucien threw himself nonchalantly upon the divan,
and took out his cigarette-case.

"Will you have a cigarette, Gray?" he asked.
"No thanks," replied the other, in tones of smothered hostility. He was ill at ease, and
paced the apartment nervously. Pyne lighted a cigarette, and tossed the extinguished
match into a brass bowl.
"I think," said Gray jerkily, "I shall go for a cab. Are you remaining?"
"I am dining at the club," answered Pyne, "but I can wait until you return."
"As you wish," jerked Gray. "I don't expect to be long."
He walked rapidly to the outer door, which opened at his approach and closed noiselessly
behind him as he made his exit.

CHAPTER III
KAZMAH
Mrs. Monte Irvin entered the inner room. The air was heavy with the perfume of
frankincense which smouldered in a brass vessel set upon a tray. This was the audience
chamber of Kazmah. In marked contrast to the overcrowded appointments, divans and
cupboards of the first room, it was sparsely furnished. The floor was thickly carpeted, but
save for an ornate inlaid table upon which stood the tray and incense- burner, and a long,
low-cushioned seat placed immediately beneath a hanging lamp burning dimly in a
globular green shade, it was devoid of decoration. The walls were draped with green
curtains, so that except for the presence of the painted door, the four sides of the
apartment appeared to be uniform.
Having conducted Mrs. Irvin to the seat, the Egyptian bowed and retired again through
the doorway by which they had entered. The visitor found herself alone.
She moved nervously, staring across at the blank wall before her. With her little satin
shoe she tapped the carpet, biting her under lip and seeming to be listening. Nothing
stirred. Not even an echo of busy Bond Street penetrated to the place. Mrs. Irvin
unfastened her cloak and allowed it to fall back upon the settee. Her bare shoulders
looked waxen and unnatural in the weird light which shone down upon them. She was
breathing rapidly.
The minutes passed by in unbroken silence. So still was the room that Mrs. Irvin could
hear the faint crackling sound made by the burning charcoal in the brass vessel near her.
Wisps of blue-grey smoke arose through the perforated lid and she began to watch them
fascinatedly, so lithe they seemed, like wraiths of serpents creeping up the green
draperies.
So she was seated, her foot still restlessly tapping, but her gaze arrested by the hypnotic

movements of the smoke, when at last a sound from the outer world, penetrated to the
room. A church clock struck the hour of seven, its clangor intruding upon the silence only
as a muffled boom. Almost coincident with the last stroke came the sweeter note of a
silver gong from somewhere close at hand.
Mrs. Irvin started, and her eyes turned instantly in the direction of the greenly draped
wall before her. Her pupils had grown suddenly dilated, and she clenched her hands
tightly.
The light above her head went out.
Now that the moment was come to which she had looked forward with mingled hope and
terror, long pent-up emotion threatened to overcome her, and she trembled wildly.
Out of the darkness dawned a vague light and in it a shape seemed to take form. As the
light increased the effect was as though part of the wall had become transparent so as to
reveal the interior of an inner room where a figure was seated in a massive ebony chair.
The figure was that of an oriental, richly robed and wearing a white turban. His long slim
hands, of the color of old ivory, rested upon the arms of the chair, and on the first finger
of the right hand gleamed a big talismanic ring. The face of the seated man was lowered,
but from under heavy brows his abnormally large eyes regarded her fixedly.
So dim the light remained that it was impossible to discern the details with anything like
clearness, but that the clean-shaven face of the man with those wonderful eyes was
strikingly and intellectually handsome there could be no doubt.
This was Kazmah, "the dream reader," and although Mrs. Irvin had seen him before, his
statuesque repose and the weirdness of his unfaltering gaze thrilled her uncannily.
Kazmah slightly raised his hand in greeting: the big ring glittered in the subdued light.
"Tell me your dream," came a curious mocking voice; "and I will read its portent."
Such was