Baskinelli turned for just in instant to glance at the tall man with the tilted mustache, then resumed immediately his conversation with Pauline.
"Why do all the Chinamen run away like that?" she asked.
"It is the end of the service; you see the priests are going, too."
There was a furtive haste about the departure of the Orientals. And there was a quavering in the manner of the oldest priest--the only one who remained--that seemed born of a hidden fear.
The old priest lifted one of the lamps from a wall bracket and set it on the floor beside the idol. He knelt near it and began to pray.
The three Italians waited only a moment, then followed the Chinese out of the room.
"It is late--we ought to be going," pleaded Lucille.
Complete silence had fallen on the room and her words, a little tremulous, had instant effect on the other women.
"What about it, Baskinelli? Had we better be going?" asked one of the men.
"Yes--yes, I beg only a moment. I wish to show Miss Pauline the--"
"You mean Miss Marvin, do you not?" blazed Harry, striding to Baskinelli"s side and glaring down at him.
"I was interrupted. I had not finished my words. They are, at best, awkward, I beg--"
"You beg nothing," said Harry through clenched teeth. Then slowly, grimly:
"I want to tell you, you little leper, that if anything happens here tonight--it is going to happen to you."
He was so near to the musician that the others did not hear.
Baskinelli backed away. Pauline, with the swift, inexplicable, yet unerring instinct of woman, moved as if to seek the shelter of Harry"s towering frame.
He did not see her. He had whirled at the sound of the opening of a door--a peculiar door set diagonally across a corner of the room behind the joss.
Through the yellow silk curtains that hid the entrance came two Chinamen as fantastically hideous as the embroidered dragons on the tapestry.
"Put those men out; they cannot come in here; they are full of opium,"
commanded Baskinelli.
"Stop; let them come in; we are going," said the mild voice of Owen.
The understanding look of Baskinelli met his. Baskinelli frowned and Owen smiled. They were playing perfectly their roles.
The two Chinamen shuffled into the room. The priest arose in jabbering protest. They argued with him acridly. A few feet away one could see that their cheap linen robes covered the ordinary street garb of the Chinamen; that the ugly lines on their faces were painted, as on the face of the Joss.
Baskinelli was laughing. The others watched the argument in silence.
Every one but the host, and Owen, and Pauline, seemed a little nervous.
Suddenly the lamp on the floor went out. There was another at the farther side of the room, but its dim light made the scene more weird than darkness could have made it.
"Well, I thought we were going," snapped Harry"s strident voice.
"We are," replied Baskinelli. "Miss--er--I am afraid to speak-- Miss Marvin, shall we go?"
Pauline took his arm.
"Ali, but I have forgotten the most precious sight of the evening,"
suddenly exclaimed the musician. "Only a moment--look here."
Interested, Pauline did not notice that Owen softly shut the door upon the receding footsteps of the others. Baskinelli guided her back to the little door behind the screen--the door from which the Chinamen had entered.
Baskinelli drew aside the curtain.
"There--that is one form of adventure."
Pauline looked through the curtain. A suffocating, narcotic odor came to her. What she saw was stifling not only to the senses--but to the soul. She turned away.
"Polly!"
Harry"s voice rang through the little choked room like a thunder blast.
"We are coming--we are quite safe," called Baskinelli, with the sneer tinge in his tone.
"Very well, then; hurry."
Harry"s manner aroused Pauline"s temper again. She purposely lingered.
The two Chinamen were arguing violently now with the priest.
Harry had closed the door and followed the others down the outer pa.s.sage.
"Miss Marvin--Pauline!" called Baskinelli with sudden pa.s.sion. "Have you a heart of stone? Can you not see me helpless in your presence?
Do you know what love is?"
He stepped towards her and tried to take her in his arms. But she was stronger and far braver than he. She thrust him aside and fled through the door.
Baskinelli followed, protesting, pleading.
Strangely, as she fled through the narrow corridor, the low, flaring gas jets were extinguished one by one.
She groped in darkness.
Baskinelli"s pleading voice became almost a consolation, a protection.
Her elbow struck something in the pa.s.sageway. The something shrank at the touch. She heard a quick drawn breath that was not Baskinelli"s.
She tried to run. The tiny pa.s.sageway chocked her flight. She plunged helplessly between invisible, but gripping walls. She reeled and screamed.
There was the sound of a struggle behind her. She heard Baskinelli crying for help--but, oh, so quietly! She reached the stairs. The stairs were blocked by a closed door. The door was barred. But there was a light left burning by the door.