Let
me see your face. As heaven is my witness, I am ruined--ruined!"
"Tomorrow--"
"I cannot wait for tomorrow--"
That quivering, hoarse cry betrayed a condition of desperate febrile
excitement. Mrs. Irvin was capable of proceeding to the wildest
extremities. Clearly the mysterious Egyptian recognized this to be the
case, for slowly raising his hand:
"I will communicate with you," he said, and the words were spoken
almost hurriedly. "Depart in peace--"; a formula wherewith he
terminated every seance. He lowered his hand.
The silver gong sounded again--and the dim light began to fade.
Thereupon the unhappy woman acted; the long suppressed outburst came
at last. Stepping rapidly to the green transparent veil behind which
Kazmah was seated, she wrenched it asunder and leapt toward the figure
in the black chair.
"You shall not trick me!" she panted. "Hear me out or I go straight to
the police--now--now!" She grasped the hands of Kazmah as they rested
motionless, on the chair-arms.
Complete darkness came.
Out of it rose a husky, terrified cry--a second, louder cry; and then
a long, wailing scream . . . horror-laden as that of one who has
touched some slumbering reptile. . . .
CHAPTER IV
THE CLOSED DOOR
Rather less than five minutes later a taxicab drew up in old Bond
Street, and from it Quentin Gray leapt out impetuously and ran in at
the doorway leading to Kazmah's stairs.
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