that occurred which set my heart beating
wildly at once with hope and excitement. Fletcher must have seen
something of this in my attitude, for--

"Don't forget what I told you," he whispered. "Be cautious!--be very
cautious!..."

CHAPTER VIII

ZARMI OF THE JOY-SHOP

Down the center of the room came a girl carrying the only ornamental
object which thus far I had seen in the Joy-Shop; a large Oriental
brass tray. She was a figure which must have formed a center of
interest in any place, trebly so, then, in such a place as this. Her
costume consisted in a series of incongruities, whilst the entire
effect was barbaric and by no means unpicturesque. She wore high-heeled
red slippers, and, as her short gauzy skirt rendered amply evident,
black silk stockings. A brilliantly colored Oriental scarf was wound
around her waist and knotted in front, its tasseled ends swinging
girdle fashion. A sort of chemise--like the _'anteree_ of Egyptian
women--completed her costume, if I except a number of barbaric
ornaments, some of them of silver, with which her hands and arms
were bedecked.

But strange as was the girl's attire, it was to her face that my gaze
was drawn irresistibly. Evidently, like most of those around us, she
was some kind of half-caste; but, unlike them, she was wickedly
handsome. I use the adverb _wickedly_ with deliberation; for the
pallidly dusky, oval face, with the full red lips, between which rested
a large yellow cigarette, and the half-closed almond-shaped eyes,
possessed a beauty which might have appealed to an artist of one of
the modern perverted schools, but which filled me less with admiration
than horror. For I _knew_ her--I recognized her, from a past, brief
meeting; I knew her, beyond all possibility of doubt, to be one of
the Si-Fan group!

This strange creature, tossing back her jet-black, frizzy hair, which
was entirely innocent of any binding or ornament, advanced along the
room towards us, making unhesitatingly for our table, and carrying her
lithe body with the grace of a _Ghazeeyeh_.

I glanced at Fletcher across the table.

"Zarmi!" he whispered.

Again I raised my eyes to the face which now was close to mine, and
became aware that I was trembling with excitement....

Heavens! why did enlightenment come too late! Either I was the victim
of an odd delusion, or Zarmi had been the driver of the cab in which
Nayland Smith had left the New Louvre Hotel!

Zarmi place the brass t