Zahara.

There was a mingling, purposeless movement. Someone ran to the door--to
find that it was locked from the outside. Mr. Eddie, now recognizable by
his accent, came toward the prone man, dazed, horrified, and grown very
white. Zahara, a beautiful, tragic figure, in her flaming cloak, stood
looking down at the dead man. Safiyeh was peeping round from behind
the screen, her face a brown mask of terror. Hassan, holding his drum,
appeared behind her, staring stupidly. To the smell of cigar smoke and
perfume a new and acrid odour was added.

Vaguely the truth was stealing in upon the mind of the dancing-girl that
she had been made party to a plot to murder Grantham. She had saved his
life. He belonged to her now. She could hear him speaking, although
for some reason she could not see him. A haze had come, blotting out
everything but the still, ungainly figure which lay so near her upon
the carpet, one clutching, fat hand, upon which a diamond glittered,
outstretched so that it nearly touched her bare white feet.

"We must get out this way! The side door to the courtyard! None of us
can afford to be mixed up in an affair of this sort."

There was more confused movement and a buzz of excited
voices--meaningless, chaotic. Zahara could feel the draught from the
newly opened door. A thin stream of blood was stealing across the
carpet. It had almost reached the fallen rose petals, which it strangely
resembled in colour under the light of the lanterns.

As though dispersed by the draught, the haze lifted, and Zahara saw
Grantham standing by the open doorway through which he had ushered out
the other visitors.

Wide-eyed and piteous she met his glance. She had seen that night the
Look in his eyes. She had saved his life, and there was much, so
much, that she wanted to tell him. A thousand yearnings, inexplicable,
hitherto unknown, deep mysteries of her soul, looked out of those great
eyes.

"Don't think," he said tensely, "that I was deceived. I saw the trick
with the rose! You are as guilty as your villainous lover! Murderess!"

He went out and closed the door. The flame-coloured cloak slowly slipped
from Zahara's shoulders, and the veils, like falling petals, began to
drop gently one by one upon the blood-stained carpet.

THE HAND OF THE MANDARIN QUONG

I

THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN

"Singapore is by no means herself again," declared Jennings, looking
about the lounge of the Hotel de l'Eur