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Page 53
At the far end, before the dais, the kneeling figure began to move. Its
arms extended slowly, they swept backward, then out again, and three
times the figure bowed itself and straightened, and with the movement
came a low, human monotone. It was over quickly. Probably two full
minutes had not passed since Keith had entered when the kneeling figure
sprang to its feet with the quickness of a cat, faced about, and stood
there, smiling and bowing and extending its hand.
"Good evening, John Keith!" It was Shan Tung. An oriental gown fell
about him, draping him like a woman. It was a crimson gown, grotesquely
ornamented with embroidered peacocks, and it flowed and swept about him
in graceful undulations as he advanced, his footfalls making not the
sound of a mouse on the velvet floors.
"Good evening, John Keith!" He was close, smiling, his eyes glowing,
his hand still outstretched, friendliness in his voice and manner. And
yet in that voice there was a purr, the purr of a cat watching its
prey, and in his eyes a glow that was the soft rejoicing of a triumph.
Keith did not take the hand. He made as if he did not see it. He was
looking into those glowing, confident eyes of the Chinaman. A Chinaman!
Was it possible? Could a Chinaman possess that voice, whose very
perfection shamed him?
Shan Tung seemed to read his thoughts. And what he found amused him,
and he bowed again, still smiling. "I am Shan Tung," he said with the
slightest inflection of irony. "Here--in my home--I am different. Do
you not recognize me?"
He waved gracefully a hand toward a table on either side of which was a
chair. He seated himself, not waiting for Keith. Keith sat down
opposite him. Again he must have read what was in Keith's heart, the
desire and the intent to kill, for suddenly he clapped his hands, not
loudly, once--twice---
"You will join me in tea?" he asked.
Scarcely had he spoken when about them, on all sides of them it seemed
to Keith, there was a rustle of life. He saw tapestries move. Before
his eyes a panel became a door. There was a clicking, a stir as of
gowns, soft footsteps, a movement in the air. Out of the panel doorway
came a Chinaman with a cloth, napkins, and chinaware. Behind him
followed a second with tea-urn and a bowl, and with the suddenness of
an apparition, without sound or movement, a third was standing at
Keith's side. And still there was rustling behind, still there was the
whispering beat of life, and Keith knew that there were others. He did
not flinch, but smiled back at Shan Tung. A minute, no more, and the
soft-footed yellow men had performed their errands and were gone.
"Quick service," he acknowledged. "VERY quick service. Shan Tung! But I
have my hand on something that is quicker!"
Suddenly Shan Tung leaned over the table. "John Keith, you are a fool
if you came here with murder in your heart," he said. "Let us be
friends. It is best. Let us be friends."
XXI
It was as if with a swiftness invisible to the eye a mask had dropped
from Shan Tung's face. Keith, preparing to fight, urging himself on to
the step which he believed he must take, was amazed. Shan Tung was
earnest. There was more than earnestness in his eyes, an anxiety, a
frankly revealed hope that Keith would meet him halfway. But he did not
offer his hand again. He seemed to sense, in that instant, the vast
gulf between yellow and white. He felt Keith's contempt, the spurning
contumely that was in the other's mind. Under the pallid texture of his
skin there began to burn a slow and growing flush.
"Wait!" he said softly. In his flowing gown he seemed to glide to a
carven desk near at hand. He was back in a moment with a roll of
parchment in his hand. He sat down again and met Keith's eyes squarely
and in silence for a moment.
"We are both MEN, John Keith." His voice was soft and calm. His
tapering fingers with their carefully manicured nails fondled the roll
of parchment, and then unrolled it, and held it so the other could read.
It was a university diploma. Keith stared. A strange name was scrolled
upon it, Kao Lung, Prince of Shantung. His mind leaped to the truth. He
looked at the other.
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