"My own rather hazardous delay," continued Fo-Hi, "is occasioned in
some measure by my anxiety to complete the present experiment. Its
product will be your passport to China."
Carrying a tiny crucible, he returned to the table.
Stuart felt that his self-possession was deserting him. Madness
threatened ... If he was not already mad. He forced himself to speak.
"You taunt me because I am helpless. I do not believe that those men
have been spirited into China. Even if it were so, they would die, as
I would die, rather than prostitute their talents to such mad infamy."
Fo-Hi carefully poured the contents of the crucible into a flat
platinum pan.
"In China, Dr. Stuart," he said, "we know how to _make_ men work! I
myself am the deviser of a variant of the unduly notorious _kite_
device and the scarcely less celebrated 'Six Gates of Wisdom.' I term
it The Feast of a Thousand Ants. It is performed with the aid of
African driver ant, a pair of surgical scissors and a pot of honey.
I have observed you studying with interest the human skeleton yonder.
It is that of one of my followers--a Nubian mute--who met with an
untimely end quite recently. You are wondering, no doubt, how I
obtained the frame in so short a time? My African driver ants, Dr.
Stuart, of which I have three large cases in a cellar below this room,
performed the task for me in exactly sixty-nine minutes."
Stuart strained frenziedly at his gyves.
"My God!" he groaned.
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