into thowrough order for an incoming tenant. In short, your duties in this wrespect will be identical to those which formerly you perfowrmed at sea. There is one important diffewrence: your name is Lucas, and you will answer no questions.”
The metallic voice seemed to reach Soames' comprehension from some place other than the room of the golden dragon — from a great distance, or as though he were fastened up in a box and were being addressed by someone outside it.
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
Said opened the yellow door upon the right of the room, and Soames followed him into another of the matting-lined corridors, this one running right and left and parallel with the wall of the apartment which he had just quitted. Six doors opened out of this corridor; four of them upon the side opposite to that by which he had entered, and one at either end.
These doors were not readily to be detected; and the wall, at first glance, presented an unbroken appearance. But from experience, he had learned that where the strips of bamboo which overlay the straw matting formed a rectangular panel, there was a door, and by the light of the electric lamp hung in the center of the corridor, he counted six of these.
Said, selecting a key from a bunch which he carried, opened one of the doors, held it ajar for Soames to enter, and permitted it to reclose behind him.
Soames entered nervously. He found himself in a room identical in size with his own private apartment; a bathroom, etc., opened out of it in one corner after the same fashion. But there similarity ended.
The bed in this apartment was constructed more on the lines of a modern steamer bunk; that is, it was surrounded by a rail, and was raised no more than a foot from the floor. The latter was covered with a rich carpet, worked in many colors, and the wall was hung with such paper as Soames had never seen hitherto in his life. The scheme of this mural decoration was distinctly Chinese, and consisted in an intricate design of human and animal figures, bewilderingly mingled; its coloring was brilliant, and the scheme extended, unbroken, over the entire ceiling. Cushions, most fancifully embroidered, were strewn about the floor, and the bed coverlet was a piece of heavy Chinese tapestry. A lamp, shaded with silk of a dull purple, swung in the center of the apartment, and an ebony table, inlaid with ivory, stood on one side of the bed; on the other was a cushioned armchair figured with the eternal, chaotic Chinese design, and being littered, at the moment, with the garments of the man in the bed. The air of the room was disgusting, unbreathable; it caught Soames by the throat and sickened him. It was laden with some kind of fumes, entirely unfamiliar to his nostrils. A dainty Chinese tea-service stood upon the ebony table.
For fully thirty seconds Soames, with his back to the door, gazed at the man in the bed, and fought down the nausea which the air of the place had induced in him.
This sleeper was a man of middle age, thin to emaciation and having lank, dark hair. His face was ghastly white, and he lay with his head thrown back and with his arms hanging out upon either side of the bunk, so that his listless hands rested upon the carpet. It was a tragic face; a high, intellectual brow and finely chiseled features; but it presented an indescribable aspect of decay; it was as the face of some classic statue which has long lain buried in humid ruins.
Soames shook himself into activity, and ventured to approach the bed. He moistened his dry lips and spoke:
“Good morning, sir” — the words sounded wildly, fantastically out of place. “Shall I prepare your bath?”
The sleeper showed no signs of awakening.
Soames forced himself to touch one of the thrown-back shoulders. He shook it gently.
The man on the bed raised his arms and dropped them back again into their original position, without opening his eyes.
“They... are hiding,” he murmured thickly... “in the... orange grove.... If the felucca sails... closer... they will”...
Soames, finding something very horrifying in the broken words, shook the sleeper more urgently.
“Wake up, sir!” he cried; “I am going to prepare your bath.”
“Don't let them... escape,” murmured the man, slowly opening his eyes — “I have not”...
He struggled upright, glaring madly at the intruder. His light gray eyes had a glassiness as of long sickness, and his pupils, which were unnaturally dilated, began rapidly to contract; became almost invisible. Then they expanded again — and again contracted.
“Who — the deuce are you?” he murmured, passing his hand across his unshaven face.
“My name is — Lucas, sir,” said Soames, conscious that if he remained much longer in the place he should be physically sick. “At your service — shall I prepare the bath?”
“The bath?” said the man, sitting up more straightly — “certainly, yes — of course”...
He looked at Soames, with a light of growing sanity creeping into his eyes; a faint flush tinged the pallid face, and his loose mouth twitched sensitively.
“Then, Said,” he began, looking Soames up and down... “let me see, whom did you say you were?”
“Lucas, sir — at your service.”
“Ah,” muttered the man, lowering his eyes in unmistakable shame — “yes, yes, of course. You are new here?”
“Yes, sir. Shall I prepare your bath?”
“Yes, please. This is Wednesday morning?”
“Wednesday morning, sir; yes.”
“Of course — it is Wednesday. You said your name was?”
“Lucas, sir,” reiterated Soames, and, crossing the fantastic apartment, he entered the bathroom beyond.
This contained the most modern appointments and was on an altogether more luxurious scale than that attached to his own quarters. He noted, without drawing any deduction from the circumstance, that the fittings were of American manufacture. Here, as in the outer room, there was no window; an electric light hung from the center of the ceiling. Soames busied himself in filling the bath, and laying out the towels upon the rack.
“Fairly warm, sir?” he asked.
“Not too warm, thank you,” replied the other, now stumbling out of bed and falling into the armchair — “not too warm.”
“If you will take your bath, sir,” said Soames, returning to the outer room, “I will brush your clothes and be ready to shave you.”
“Yes, yes,” said the man, rubbing his hands over his face wearily. “You are new here?”
Soames, who was becoming used to answering this question, answered it once more without irritation.
“Yes, sir, will you take your bath now? It is nearly full, I think.”
The man stood up unsteadily and passed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Soames, seeking to forget his surroundings, took out from a small hand-bag which he found beneath the bed, a razor-case and a shaving stick. The clothes-brush he had discovered in the bathroom; and now he set to work to brush the creased garments stacked in the armchair. He noted that they were of excellent make, and that the linen was of the highest quality. He was thus employed when the outer door silently opened and the face of Said looked in.
“Gazm,” said the Oriental; and he placed inside, upon the carpet, a pair of highly polished boots.
The door was reclosed.
Soames had all the garments in readiness by the time that the man emerged from the bathroom, looking slightly less ill, and not quite so pallid. He wore a yellow silk kimono; and, with greater composure than he had yet revealed, he seated himself in the armchair that Soames might shave him.
This operation Soames accomplished, and the subject, having partially dressed, returned to the bathroom to brush his hair. When his toilet was practically completed:
“Shall