o-Pin with one of his piercing
glances.

Soames, finding his legs none too steady, entered the passage behind
Ho-Pin. As he did so, the door was closed by Said, and he found himself
in absolute darkness.

"Keep close behind me," directed the metallic voice.

Soames could not see the speaker, since no ray of light penetrated
into the passage. He stretched out a groping hand, and, although he was
conscious of an odd revulsion, touched the shoulder of the man in front
of him and maintained that unpleasant contact whilst they walked on and
on through apparently endless passages, extensive as a catacomb. Many
corners they turned; they turned to the right, they turned to the left.
Soames was hopelessly bewildered. Then, suddenly, Ho-Pin stopped.

"Stand still," he said.

Soames became vaguely aware that a door was being closed somewhere near
to him. A lamp lighted up directly over his head... he found himself in
a small library!

Its four walls were covered with book-shelves from floor to ceiling, and
the shelves were packed to overflowing with books in most unusual and
bizarre bindings. A red carpet was on the floor and a red-shaded lamp
hung from the ceiling, which was conventionally white-washed. Although
there was no fireplace, the room was immoderately hot, and heavy with
the perfume of roses. On three little tables were great bowls filled
with roses, and there were other bowls containing roses in gaps between
the books on the open shelves.

A tall screen of beautifully carved sandalwood masked one corner of
the room, but beyond it protruded the end of a heavy writing-table upon
which lay some loose papers, and, standing amid them, an enormous silver
rose-bowl, brimming with sulphur-colored blooms.

Soames, obeying a primary instinct, turned, as the light leaped into
being, to seek the door by which he had entered. As he did so, the
former doubts of his own sanity returned with renewed vigor.

The book-lined wall behind him was unbroken by any opening.

Slowly, as a man awaking from a stupor, Soames gazed around the library.

It contained no door.

He rested his hand upon one of the shelves and closed his eyes. Beyond
doubt he was going mad! The tragic events of that night had proved too
much for him; he had never disguised from himself the fact that his
mental capacity was not of the greatest. He was assured, now, that
his brain had lost its balance shortly after his flight from Palace
Mansions, and that