nister looks. It would have been hard to know what he was thinking. He
was one of those tall, emaciated chaps, that make us men of ordinary
stature feel dwarfish; and as I looked at his skull-like face I wondered
at first where his eyes were hidden ... they seemed so far back in the
dark hollows on each side of his nose.

"I placed myself before Albert of Cologne--to try and appreciate it, you
know. Well, I didn't think a great deal of it, but of course I was a
Philistine. I had seen many great, heavy bronzes in the British Museum,
and they hadn't even stirred my heart, so it is not surprising that this
one failed to affect me. I told Ombos, merely to please him, that I
thought it was an extraordinary piece of work. But he very soon saw that
I was not able to appreciate old Magnus, and he drew a heavy plush
curtain back in front of him.

"'Come back! Come away!' he said. 'You have not yet the understanding.
Oh, it's big! It's a big god, I tell you.'

"Ombos was very patient with me, but as he walked up and down the room
kicking the leopard skin rugs I knew he was thinking what an idiot I
was, and I just waited.

"'You have not yet the understanding,' he muttered. 'It may come to you
one day ... the doors of life and death are left ajar from time to time,
and the light of Al Tughrai's lamp of wisdom shines out upon us for a
moment between the opening and closing.' The carved ivory face of old
Ombos seemed softer when he said that.

"'Did my brother care for the old bronze? Did he love it as I do, every
curve in the lean and corded neck ...'

"And then all of a sudden he walked over to me! 'Come!' he said, putting
his hand on my shoulder and speaking in a voice which he had the trick
of making wonderfully amiable. 'Dear me, dear me! How I must bore you
with my old relics. You want some tea and muffins or something of the
kind, eh? Will you do me the honour of taking tea with me?' he said,
leading me through a door in a recess and a wilderness of corridors to a
small room, where a charming French girl presided over a steaming
tea-pot of massive silver.

"'This is Captain Crabbe,' said Ombos introducing me to her. He turned
to me. 'This is Margot, my niece,' he said with a smile.

"I made a step forward and bowed slightly; she was very pretty, this
girl, as she stood there with the rich red light from the silk lamp
shades behind her. She was one of those dark, seductive women that look
their best in a warm light; a