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Page 78
"Does Your Excellency really mean that?" she whispered.
A smile appeared upon his face, an alluring smile, but rather
that of a beautiful woman than of a man.
"As you of the West," he said, "have advanced step by step, ever
upward in the mechanical sciences, we of the East have advanced
also step by step in other and greater sciences."
"Certainly," she admitted, "you have spoken of such things
before."
"I speak of things which I know. From that hour when you entered
upon your first Kama, back in the dawn of time, until now, those
within the ever-moving cycle which bears you on through the ages
have been beside you, at times unseen by the world, at times
unseen by you, veiled by the mist which men call death, but which
is no more than a curtain behind which we sometimes step for a
while. In the East we have learned to raise that curtain; in the
West are triflers who make like claims, but whose knowledge of
the secret of the veil is--" And he snapped his fingers
contemptuously.
The strange personality of the man was having its effect. Phil
Abingdon's eyes were widely open, and she was hanging upon his
words. Underneath the soft effeminate exterior lay a masterful
spirit--a spirit which had known few obstacles. The world of
womanhood could have produced no more difficult subject than Phil
Abingdon. Yet she realized, and became conscious of a sense of
helplessness, that under certain conditions she would be as a
child in the hands of this Persian mystic, whose weird eyes
appeared to be watching not her body, nor even her mind, but her
soul, whose voice touched unfamiliar chords within her--chords
which had never responded to any other human voice.
It was thrilling, vaguely pleasurable, but deep terror underlay
it.
"Your Excellency almost frightens me," she whispered. "Yet I do
not doubt that you speak of what you know."
"It is so," he returned, gravely. "At any hour, day or night, if
you care to make the request, I shall be happy to prove my words.
But," he lowered his dark lashes and then raised them again, "the
real object of my visit is concerned with more material things."
"Indeed," said Phil Abingdon, and whether because of the words of
Ormuz Khan, or because of some bond of telepathy which he had
established between them, she immediately found herself to be
thinking of Paul Harley.
"I bring you a message," he continued, "from a friend."
With eyes widely open, Phil Abingdon watched him.
"From," she began--but her lips would not frame the name.
"From Mr. Paul Harley," he said, inclining his head gravely.
"Oh! tell me, tell me!"
"I am here to tell you, Miss Abingdon. Mr. Harley feels that his
absence may have distressed you."
"Yes, yes," she said, eagerly.
"But in pursuit of a certain matter which is known to you, he has
found it necessary in the interests of his safety to remain out
of London for a while."
"Oh," Phil Abingdon heaved a great sigh. "Oh, Your Excellency,
how glad I am to hear that he is safe!"
The long, dark eyes regarded her intently, unemotionally, noting
that the flush had faded from her face, leaving it very pale, and
noting also the expression of gladness in her eyes, the quivering
of her sweet lips.
"He is my guest," continued Ormuz Khan, "my honoured guest."
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