re, other petals kept
falling--softly, with a gentle rustling. Just that sound there was...
and no other. Then:

"Mr. King he wishing to point out to you," said the girl, "that he hold
receipts of you, which bind you to him. So you will be free man, and
have liberty to go out sometimes for your own business. Mr. King he
wishing to hear you say you thinking to agree with the conditions and be
satisfied."

She ceased speaking, but continued to smile; and so complete was the
stillness, that Soames, whose sense of hearing had become nervously
stimulated, heard a solitary rose petal fall upon the corner of the
writing-table.

"I... agree," he whispered huskily; "and... I am... satisfied."

He looked at the carven screen as a lost soul might look at the gate of
Hades; he felt now that if a sound should come from beyond it he would
shriek out, he would stop up his ears; that if the figure of the Unseen
should become visible, he must die at the first glimpse of it.

The little brown girl was repeating the uncanny business of listening
to that voice of silence; and Soames knew that he could not sustain his
part in this eerie comedy for another half-minute without breaking out
into hysterical laughter. Then:

"Mr. King he releasing you for to-night," announced the silver bell
voice.

The light went out.

Soames uttered a groan of terror, followed by a short, bubbling laugh,
but was seized firmly by the arm and led on into the blackness--on
through the solid, book-laden walls, presumably; and on--on--on, along
those interminable passages by which he had come. Here the air was
cooler, and the odor of roses no longer perceptible, no longer stifling
him, no longer assailing his nostrils, not as an odor of sweetness, but
as a perfume utterly damnable and unholy.

With his knees trembling at every step, he marched on, firmly supported
by his unseen companion.

"Stop!" directed a metallic, guttural voice.

Soames pulled up, and leaned weakly against the wall. He heard the clap
of hands close behind him; and a door opened within twelve inches of the
spot whereat he stood.

He tottered out into the matting-lined corridor from which he had
started upon that nightmare journey; Ho-Pin appeared at his elbow, but
no door appeared behind Ho-Pin!

"This is your wroom," said the Chinaman, revealing his yellow teeth in a
mirthless smile.

He walked across the corridor, threw open a door--a real, palpable
door... and there was S