fringe of the curtain. Paul Harley sat quite still, smoking and watching.
He had learned to face the inevitable with composure, and now, apprehending the worst, he waited, puffing at his pipe. Presently he detected the sound of someone crossing the room toward him, or rather toward the screen. He lay back against the mattress which formed the back of the divan, and watched the gap below the curtain.
Suddenly he perceived a pair of glossy black boots. Their wearer was evidently standing quite near the screen, possibly listening. Harley had an idea that some second person stood immediately behind the first. Of this idea he presently had confirmation. He was gripping the stem of his pipe very tightly and any one who could have seen him sitting there must have perceived that although his face wore an unusual pallor, he was composed and entirely master of himself.
A voice uttered his name:
"Mr. Paul Harley
He could not be sure, but he thought it was the voice of Ormûz Khân's secretary. He drew his pipe from between his teeth, and:
"Yes, what do you want with me?" he asked.
"Your attention, Mr. Harley, for a few moments, if you feel sufficiently recovered."
"Pray proceed," said Harley.
Of the presence of a second person beyond the
