It seemed to Trent that he had scarcely closed his eyes before a touch awakened him. Sunlight floated through the window in a cloud of gold, and Hsiao, the muleteer, stood beside his cot. When he rose he felt stiff and empty of vitality; the vampire of utter exhaustion had drained him while he slept. A groove was worn into his brain, a groove into which all thoughts fell unresistingly.

It was nearly nine o'clock, and a few minutes later when he went below he found Kee Meng bending over a fire, boiling water for his tea.

"I thought I told you not to move about," he said sternly to the Mussulman.

Kee Meng tapped his wound. "See, it is well now, Tajen!" Then he inclined his head toward the soldier who lounged in the gateway. "I was talking to him a while ago, Tajen, and he says there is great excitement at the house of the councillor, Na-chung, because"—Kee Meng winked—"because Na-chung disappeared last night and they fear he has been murdered and his body thrown to the dogs and vultures! He says they are searching the city for the councillor."

Trent did not smile. In his eyes was an absent look, as though his brain followed a derelict idea. Presently he asked:

"I've had no message from the lama?"

"No, Tajen."

Trent spent a restless three hours. He went up on the roof and smoked and thought. There was something pregnant and repressed in the calm blue sky, in the gleam of Lhakang-gompa's golden roofs, and in the shimmer and glare of the whitewashed city. He waited until noon, hoping he would hear from Kerth; but no message came, and, vaguely troubled, he descended from the roof. He procured his revolver; slipped it under his orange-yellow robe. Then he sought Kee Meng, who was in the quadrangle.

"I am going to the Governor's house," he told the muleteer. "As soon as the soldier and I have gone, get our packs together and you and the men go to the place where Hsiao and Kang went last night. Stay there, in hiding, until you hear from me. Under no circumstances leave. Deliver the—the thing that is hidden in the cellar only in my presence or upon a written order from me."

"But, Tajen," objected Kee Meng, "do you go alone?"

Trent nodded. "Alone."

An expression of genuine concern came into the Mussulman's oblique eyes.

"This is an evil city, Tajen; the Governor is an evil man. It was he who commanded the archers yesterday. And the brother—what of the brother, Tajen?"

"I am going now to find him." Then he called Hsiao. "Tell the soldier I wish to go to the Governor's house," he directed. "Then bring my horse."

Fifteen minutes later Trent and the soldier rode out of the quadrangle and toward Lhakang-gompa.

They skirted the outer walls of the monastery and followed a wide street through a part of the city that was unfamiliar to Trent. The Governor's residence was at the very end, surrounded by a garden and roofed with dazzling blue tiles. A soldier admitted them into the courtyard, where they waited until a man who, Trent imagined, was a chamberlain came out and spoke in Tibetan to the soldier. Then the former went inside. He reappeared a moment later and beckoned to Trent. The Englishman dismounted; left his pony with the soldier; followed the chamberlain into the dwelling.

He was conducted along a hall that was dark after the bright sunlight. Curtains parted, swished behind him. As his vision became better regulated to the dimness he saw a great door, stained cardinal-red. This was opened by the chamberlain, who stood aside for him to enter.... The door closed gently behind him.

He was in a room with scarlet-lacquered walls and frescoes like those in the Armory. The silken hangings, too, were scarlet, and a single window with an iron grill allowed the sunshine to filter through in golden rain. Facing him was a silver image of Janesseron, the Three-eyed God of Thunder; and beneath the idol, at a Burmese teakwood table that struck a jarring note in the otherwise Tibetan room, and in a teakwood chair that was equally as incongruous, sat his Transparency Hsien Sgam, the Governor of Shingtse-lunpo.

The Mongol rose an instant after Trent entered and limped forward, his hand extended. Realizing it would be unwise to offend Hsien Sgam at the outset, the Englishman accepted the proffered hand.

"I am delighted to see you,"—Hsien Sgam paused deliberately and smiled—"Mr. Tavernake." And he added: "We may converse without fear of being overheard; there are no eavesdroppers in my house. Will you sit down? I was unprepared for this visit, as I did not expect to receive you until to-night, when I hoped to have you dine with me—which I still hope you will do.... I trust no trouble brings you?"

Trent, not surprised by the reception (for east of Suez a dagger lurks beneath silk), carefully chose his words before he gave tongue to them.

"I've come to report a loss," he announced, looking directly at Hsien Sgam.

"Ah!" The Mongol uttered the expletive softly.

A long pause followed, each man waiting for the other to resume. Hsien Sgam took the initiative.

"I am desolated to learn that you have suffered a loss, though of what nature I am not yet aware. We—er—find it very difficult to control thievery in the city. May I inquire what you lost?"

The bronze face was as expressionless as that of the Buddha it so resembled. Nor was Trent's face any less impassive. It was as though the two had drawn armor about them.

"Last night," said the Englishman, "one of my muleteers disappeared."

"Ah!" Again the soft expletive. "Is that strange—er—Mr. Tavernake? Is it not likely that he deserted?"

Trent went on:

"He was attacked while returning from the festival with another muleteer. The latter was wounded in the struggle, knocked unconscious; and when he awakened his companion was gone. Since then I haven't seen nor heard of the missing muleteer."

A smile settled upon Hsien Sgam's beautiful face. Once more Trent caught the illusion: eyes of Lucifer, face of Buddha.

"Be assured, Mr. Tavernake, I shall do all in my limited power to learn whither your—er—muleteer has been spirited."

Trent rested one hand upon his hip, touching the steel beneath the robe.

"I understand," he began, "that last evening your chief councillor, Na-chung, who was kind enough to accompany me to the ceremonies yesterday, was missed from his home."

Hsien Sgam limped back to his table; sat down; folded his hands upon the surface. The close-cropped head rose, almost as a deformity, from the dark crimson robe. In that instant he was both sinister and pathetic, threatening and pleading. Trent saw him as a figure curiously detached and aloof from human beings (the power of the man could not be denied), as mentally grotesque and misshapen as his limb.

"It is strange," he declared in those chosen, precise words of his, "that the two disappeared on the same night, your muleteer and my chief councillor. It is quite"—the slant eyes smiled—"quite coincidental." A pause. "Do I—er—strike the nail on the head, as they put it in your country, when I say that you come for a twofold purpose: to solicit my aid in finding your muleteer, and to inform me that you have discovered a clue that might lead to the very excellent Na-chung? In other words, you suggest a compromise: I agree to direct my efforts toward recovering your—er—lost one, if you produce the clue that will lead us to the councillor."

Another smile. Trent, too, smiled—only inwardly. There was something droll in the situation.

"Did you consider," the Mongol continued, "that—er—my duties may be quite pressing and that I might find it difficult to spare the time to devote to searching for your—muleteer?"

"But surely," Trent parleyed, "in return for the service I can render, you will find it convenient to spare time enough to repay me?"

Hsien Sgam's eyes contemplated the surface of the table; his fingers worked with nervous energy.

"Suppose," he suggested, "even then I find it impossible to respond to a suggestion that under other conditions and at another time would be welcome. What then?"

"Then," answered Trent, "I should call the compromise a failure."

Silence. Presently Hsien Sgam spoke:

"Let us cast aside pretenses," he said in his quiet, restrained manner. "You have brought—I hesitate to say it—war into my camp, so to speak, and you expect me to accept the first terms that are offered." He linked his hands together. "That is impossible, Mr. Tavernake." He rose. There was a queer majesty about him. "Nor do I think it wise for you to resort to—to crude enforcements such as you now contemplate." He smiled with self-assurance. "Consider the results. You would not gain your objective; you would be acting as did the man in your very excellent English parable about a fowl and a golden egg."

Then he lifted his hand and rapped upon the table—and almost instantly the door behind Trent opened. The Englishman did not turn, though he heard the footsteps of more than one.

"Suppose"—this suavely from the Mongol—"we declare an armistice, as it were, until to-night? It will afford me great pleasure to offer you the hospitality of my residence and thus eliminate the inconvenience of riding back to your house in the midday sun. At eight o'clock to-night we will dine—is not that the conventional European hour?—at which time we can discuss a compromise. Also the duties which you shall assume in Shingtse-lunpo."

He spoke a few words in what Trent imagined was Tibetan to those standing behind the Englishman. Then he addressed Trent again.

"Shall I be presuming if I suggest that you give into my keeping that which you have under your robe?" He smiled. "You see, not being familiar with the customs of my country, you are not aware that it is considered an act of discourtesy for a guest to keep any sort of firearm during a visit, no matter how brief. You will forgive me for assuming the rÔle of instructor?"

Trent drew the revolver from beneath his garments; passed it to Hsien Sgam. The latter accepted it with the air of one receiving a token of surrender. He bowed slightly.

"Now you will accompany my servants to the guest chamber, which I trust you will find comfortable, although it is not quite up to the standard of those of your very modern country."

Trent turned. Two soldiers, each armed with ancient-looking jewelled pistols, were standing just within the doorway. He left the room between the guards.

2

To a room on the second story of the Governor's residence Trent was taken. An iron door shut with strident clangor behind him. He saw neither lock nor bolt as he entered, and, after waiting for several moments, he tried the door, a purely perfunctory act. To his surprise it swung back—and showed him, in the corridor-gloom, two mailed, armed soldiers. This was the first eye-proof of captivity.

Trent closed the door and delivered his attention to the room. It was large and of stone, and gory frescoes were painted upon the wall-panels. There were two windows, each barred and offering a view of the city—a waste of terraced white, almost blinding in the sunlight, crowned by the monastery and its golden roofs. Trent peered out of one window, then the other. Both looked down upon a wide roadway. For a moment he gazed at the few monks and soldiers that came and went below, then moved to a bench fixed against the wall and sank heavily, with the uncertain air of a drunken man, upon the red cushions. There was the same suggestion of intoxication in his eyes, which were veined with red from loss of sleep.

He removed his mushroom-shaped hat and furrowed his black-dyed hair. His was the despair of a gambler who has plunged, who perceives defeat for himself in the first hand and after that plays without hope, with only the will to hope.

Like something remote and beyond reach, something dim as a dream, was the thought of Dana Charteris. His interview with Hsien Sgam drove out the mystery surrounding her abduction, but left an infinitude of apprehensions. The purpose that actuated the Mongol to such a move was not obscure. Yet if she were a hostage, he need not fear for her safety—for the present. Eight o'clock—much hinged on that. What would the Mongol demand?

A deeper tide of thoughts brought to focus interests other than personal. If Sarojini Nanjee succeeded in her venture, she would be waiting at the Great Magician's Gate at the appointed time. And if he was still a prisoner then? But, even if he succeeded in freeing himself, he could not go without Dana Charteris. Nor could he abandon Kerth.... Knotted cords, and apparently no loose ends with which to work. His only foil was the fact that he held the secret of Na-chung's whereabouts—a slim weapon with which to fight a more cunningly armed opponent.

Kerth. Where was Kerth now? In Lhakang-gompa? How could he get word to him? Bribe the soldiers? He dared not try; his message might fall into Hsien Sgam's hands and thus destroy Kerth's chances.... But he did not know where to reach Kerth—a difficulty he had entirely overlooked.

He rose, and his eyes wandered about the room. As a matter of course, he tried the bars of the windows. His efforts led only to a fuller realization of his plight. Taken without violence, in a room with an unlocked door, he was as securely confined as though he were chained and in a dungeon.

He returned to the bench to wait—wait for eight o'clock. As the minutes dragged by his nerves underwent a gradual disintegration. Anxiety, mental and physical weariness—they were the destroying forces. He walked the floor.... It was exquisite torture, this waiting; something inquisitional about it. He fled from it, in thoughts, to Dana Charteris, as a persecuted worshipper to the healing coolness and quiet of temple corridors....

Sunlight ceased to reflect its glare upon the whitewashed houses, and the gilded roofs of Lhakang-gompa floated in the gathering twilight like islands on a dusky sea. A rosy light spread above the city, above the towering lamasery, and deepened from pink to sullen red, like the flaming promise of an angry Stromboli. There was something sinisterly significant—a devil's symbol—in the sunset; thrice significant to Trent as he paced his prison and watched the crimson dye staining the city. For what seemed little more than a moment Shingtse-lunpo swam in the wine-light as in blood; then night touched sun-scorched walls with soothing hands and drew a veil of secrecy over the sprawling mass of houses.

As the luminous hands of Trent's watch approached eight o'clock he heard sounds outside his door—footsteps and muffled tones. Figuratively, he gave himself into the hands of his kismet.

The door opened. Polished armor shone in the dimly lighted hall. A hand beckoned to him. Between armed soldiers he left the room and descended to the lower floor.

Hsien Sgam, in his robes of office, stood waiting in the scarlet chamber where he had received Trent that morning; and his greeting,—the quintessence of irony—his quiet, self-assured smile, made Trent falter in his diplomatic resolution to sheathe his antagonism.

One of the soldiers drew aside a scarlet curtain, revealing an arched doorway and, beyond, a long, dim hall. There a table was set. Tapers in a European candelabrum threw flickering light upon European silverware.

"You will observe," said Hsien Sgam, with a wave of his slender hand, "that I have been educated to your manner of eating. I generally relapse into barbarism, but this is an occasion—a celebration, as it were, in honor of the arrival of the first Englishman in Shingtse-lunpo."

Hsien Sgam sat across the table from Trent, and behind him—grim reminders of his power—stood two soldiers, one on either side of the scarlet-curtained archway. It was clear that the Mongol was not a gambler.... Three Tibetan women, their faces smeared with kutch, served. There was little pretense at conversation, and the trying mockery of the meal was half over before Hsien Sgam broke the prolonged strain.

"Let us not be deceived," he began, "but understand each other at the very start; let us, as you would say, commence with clean slates." He smiled over a cup of tea—tea brewed in the English fashion, and not the sickening gruel that masquerades under that name in Tibet. "As you have probably guessed, I know you are not he who the very beautiful Sarojini Nanjee would have me believe you—one Tavernake, a jeweller—but Major Trent—er—Major Arnold Ralph Trent, R. A. M. C., I believe is the full title, working in the interests of those who would commit the lamentable mistake of interfering with the affairs of others."

The Mongol continued to smile. "Furthermore, let it be understood that the fact that I know this does not in the least prejudice me against you. That one is blind is not his own fault. To enlighten you, to give you true sight—that is my purpose."

Trent met Hsien Sgam's gaze with unwavering eyes.

"At one time you were prejudiced," he suggested pointedly.

The smile seemed painted immortally upon the Mongol's bronze face. He nodded slightly.

"You refer, I presume, to the incident at Rangoon—when I came near committing a grave error? For the while I was deluded into believing it would be wiser for you not to continue to Shingtse-lunpo; I now see that I was wrong. I crave your forgiveness for that—er—almost indiscretion."

Once more the grim humor of the situation, the grotesquery of it, became apparent to Trent. This anomaly of a creature! Eternally the two elements of his being seemed warring—the Lucifer and the Buddha.

"Perhaps you will understand more clearly," said Hsien Sgam, "if I go back into the years—the years of the locust, your Christian Bible calls them.... You will forgive the fact that I am personal. It is necessary."

He spoke to one of the serving-women and she disappeared behind a curtain, to return a moment later with a silver tray. Trent almost laughed aloud; perhaps it was the tension.... Cigarettes!... He welcomed the smoke; it would clear his brain. Both he and the Mongol lighted their cheroots in a candle-flame. The latter's face seemed to swim in the blue clouds, his woman's-mouth twisted into that persistent, graven smile.

"I am an experiment," Hsien Sgam commenced. "Whether a success or a failure, I will let you judge. It is the custom in Mongolia to deliver one child from every family to the lamas for monastic training. I was chosen from a group of four brothers and destined from birth for holy orders. Very early—so early that I cannot quite remember it—I was given into the charge of the abbot of a monastery at Urga. I was a—I believe 'acolyte' is your word for it. When I was fourteen there was a celebration at Urga; it is called the Ts'am Haren. During the races I was injured; my pony fell on my limb. I was ill for many days. When I grew better they told me I would be lame, always.... That very night my mother had a vision: she saw me harnessed in golden mail and upon a white horse, leading a great army. I was on a mountain-top, she said, with legions about me, on the slopes and in the valleys; and at my feet was Asia. She saw a flame, with the face of Timur the Lame in it, descend into my body. Thus the soul of the great conqueror came to rest in the body of her second born."

The smile had faded from Hsien Sgam's face; there was in his eyes a glow that hid the devil-light. All the beauty of Buddha shone upon the bronze features.

"That was how I became a—what is the word?—messiah?" He went on: "A conference of the princes was held in the palace of the Hut'ukt'u, and it was proposed that I be sent to acquire the learning of the white lords. The Hut'ukt'u opposed it, for he was afraid that eventually I would have more power than he. But in the night I was taken away, by swiftest camel, and with the treasure of my house in goatskin bags. My mother accompanied me to Kalgan, then turned back—but my father went on to Peking. The Manchu woman was on the throne at the time. She had heard that a Mongol prince was being sent away to be educated in Western schools and return and establish an independent empire, and she, like the Hut'ukt'u, was afraid. She sent assassins. I escaped—but my father...."

He shrugged; smiled. The shining look went from his face; his beauty was again that of Lucifer, the fallen angel.

"So I went. I studied after the manner of Englishmen.... I wonder"—he leaned across the table toward Trent—"I wonder if you can understand my feelings there, a boy, in an alien land? Gray buildings and rushing trains and electricity—the roar of a modern Babylon—after yoÜrts and camels and candlelight! There where men denounce polygamy and encourage prostitution!

"It was a slow death to me, a numbness that commenced in my limbs and rose up—up—until it touched the very source of my thinking. Your Civilization with its civilized vices plucked something vital, something unexplainable, from me.... But I stayed; I learned; and when I had finished, I returned. But not as he who had left—who had wept when his father fell under the blade of a Manchu assassin. I had gone as the dreamer; I came back as the awakened sleeper, incensed toward those who had replaced visions with sordid reality.... That was in the year that Christian calendars call nineteen hundred and four—the year Tubdan Gyatso, the Dalai Lama, forsook Lhassa."

Their cheroots had burned out. The scent of stale tobacco hung in the air like an unclean aura. To Trent it seemed the essence of Hsien Sgam's story—his tragedy.

"The Dalai Lama came to Urga," Hsien Sgam continued. "The Hut'ukt'u was jealous of him and he made his stay as unpleasant as possible. But before the Dalai Lama left, I spent many hours with him. Our cause was progressing slowly when the revolution against the Manchus came; then Yuan Shih-kai, and the restoration of Tubdan Gyatso. But the Church had lost much power. A conference was called at Lhassa and it was decided that a new Head be formed—an invisible Head, unknown to the English and other aggressors. Shingtse-lunpo was chosen. It became the Head of the Church—a sort of Vatican. It was the will of Gaudama Siddartha that a certain Grand Lama's body should be the vessel for his spirit. Thus came the title of SÂkya-mÛni to His Holiness Lobsang Yshe Naktsang, the Supreme Lama of the Gelugpa. It was also deemed advisable by the Council of Lamas that I should go to the new monastery of the Head and be invested with the power of Governor of the city. I was to be a—er—connecting link between Tibet and Mongolia.

"Dorjieff, the Buriat monk, had promised us the aid of Russia. Frequently, before the invasion of Lhassa, he acted as an intermediary between the Czar and the Dalai Lama, and on one occasion the Russian emperor sent Tubdan Gyatso the vestments of a—how is it called?—a bishop?—of the Russian church. But the Russian monarch fell in the war, and hope of Russian aid dwindled. China was strangling Mongolia; Tibet had asserted her rights. Then came the Kiachta Convention. We thought we had won. But the Hut'ukt'u is a coward. With Semenov on one side, threatening, and Japan on the other (it developed later that both were the same), he became frightened.... You know what happened."

Hsien Sgam passed cigarettes to Trent, who refused; selected one himself; lighted it.

"It appeared that we were facing defeat," he resumed. "We had no money—perhaps a little in the treasuries, but not enough to propagate our plans. It seemed imminent that Japan would build the Kalgan-Kiachta railway, and such a thing would mean the end of the dream of a Mongol empire.... Ah, these railways! Keys to power! French—er—capital is behind the Chinese-Eastern Railway. Also the Yunnan Railways. The South Manchurian and the Shantung railways are Japanese-controlled. Chinese sovereignty in the districts where there are foreign-owned railways is a mere word.

"Thus it would be in Mongolia, if the Kalgan-Kiachta railway were built by Japanese money. But how could it be stopped? Mongolia herself had no money. The only way was, as I once told you, through revolution. Establish Mongolian control and refuse a concession to any power to construct the rail line. And that way, too, was obstructed by lack of—er—funds.... Then the gods sent an answer to our prayers in the form of a foreigner—a man whom you know by the name of AndrÉ Chavigny."

The muscles of Trent's jaw moved perceptibly at this announcement; otherwise, he sat motionless, hands grasping the edge of the table, eyes upon Hsien Sgam.

"There was a very great disturbance in Lhakang-gompa," the Mongol pressed on, "when it was reported one day that a white man had been discovered—er—masquerading in the city. His Holiness charged me to interview the prisoner and ascertain how much he had learned. This I did, and you may imagine my amazement upon discovering that this white man was the AndrÉ Chavigny of whom I had heard in Europe.

"His true purpose in Shingtse-lunpo I have never learned from his lips, but I am of the opinion that he might have been deluded by fantastic tales of jewels and wealth in the vaults of Lhakang-gompa. He knew he had seen too much to be allowed to leave; that is why he made me a most amazing—er—proposition. I believe I can recall the very words he uttered. He said: 'I have heard of your plans for a revolt against China. Give me my life and I will finance you.'"

Hsien Sgam laughed—a low, soft sound.

"Conceive the situation, major: this adventuring Frenchman, with only a few tengas, offering to finance the revolution! It was—do you say, droll? But I listened to him. In this very room we talked, and he sat where you are sitting now. He has a tongue as of satin. He talked for his life that night, and what he told me amazed me. I did not believe it could be done at first. I told him so, and sent him to the guest chamber which you occupied, while I thought and thought.... I went out on the city-walls. I looked toward Mongolia—Mongolia dying—and I realized that this AndrÉ Chavigny should live."

The serving-women had disappeared; Trent and the Mongol were alone but for the two mailed sentinels at the doorway.

"It is not difficult for you to imagine what AndrÉ Chavigny told me," said Hsien Sgam. "Before venturing into Tibet he had been in India—had visited the cities of Baroda, Indore, Gwalior.... He had seen jewels worth many millions of English pounds. He had seen and planned—only planned. Of those gems he told me—of his plan, too. He had observed, he said, the monks of Shingtse-lunpo cutting coral and turquoise ornaments; therefore, why could not they, under the proper direction, re-cut and re-set diamonds and emeralds and rubies? He knew of a market—sub rosa is the expression he used. And for a certain—er—percentage—he offered to finance the revolution.

"I presented the plan to His Holiness—with my approval—and after hours of contemplation he announced that the gods had sanctioned his consent. So the Order of the Falcon was formed—the Falcon, whose speedy wings would enable him to defeat the Japanese Black Dragon.

"When all arrangements were completed, AndrÉ Chavigny and I, with a few associates, set out for India—through Burma, as you came here. AndrÉ Chavigny went to Indore, I to Jehelumpore, other members of the Order to Baroda, Gwalior, Alwar, Jodpur, Tanjore, Bahawalpur and Mysore. Meanwhile, the abbot of Tsagan-dhuka was journeying with a band of pilgrims to the Sacred Bo-tree at Buddh-Gaya.

"In the work which I had to do at Jehelumpore it became necessary for me to cultivate some one who had—entrÉe, the French say—who had entrÉe into the Nawab's palace. The gods decreed that it should be Sarojini Nanjee. I met her. And to me, for the first time, came love of woman."

Hsien Sgam's smile underwent a metamorphosis—became the smile of one who tastes the gall of a bitter memory. Again, as on that night on the Manchester, Trent felt the heat of his words—words drawn from the vortices of emotion.

"I tell you this," explained the Mongol, "a thing I have told no man, so that you may fully understand.... Shinje! How I loved! I was the monk awakened to the world: desiring, as a man who sees a spring in the desert thirsts—blindly, extravagantly.... I told her of my dream of empire; I offered her a throne, and she consented to come to Tibet. Thus Sarojini Nanjee became a member of the Order of the Falcon—and my betrothed.

"Then came the night of June the fourteenth. You, as well as the English police, wondered how the jewels were removed when every border, every means of egress, was guarded. It was not difficult; it merely necessitated extreme caution. The day following the disappearance of the gems a coffin left each of the cities, accompanied by some—er—'relative' of the 'deceased.' These"—his smile expanded—"were delivered to the Abbot of Tsagan-dhuka and his lamas. After that, it was very simple. The jewels went with the pilgrims to Darjeeling. Then—" He gestured expressively.

A pause followed. Before Hsien Sgam took up his narrative he pressed his nearly burnt-out cigarette into a bowl—stared at the ashes as though each gray fleck was the dust of a dream.

"I was in Delhi when I first heard of you—and that Sarojini Nanjee had betrayed me.... Betrayed by the woman I loved!... At first I was puzzled as to how to meet this situation—that is, your entrance into our sphere of activities; whether to—to do away with you, or allow you to continue until a later time. I decided upon the latter course, for it suddenly occurred to me that you, being a military man, might be—er—persuaded to direct your efforts into another channel. A servant of mine in the employ of Sarojini Nanjee—a man named Chandra Lal—kept me acquainted with your every move. Thus I was able to take the same boat as you and to realize I had been wise in assuming you might prove of more value alive than ... otherwise. In Rangoon I suffered a moment of indecision, and almost defeated my original purpose. By what happened I saw that the gods disapproved of my—er—quenching the vital spark, as the Kanjur says.

"I ordered your presence at the festival yesterday because I wished you to see how we dispose of traitors. The men who died were members of the Order who committed grave—er—errors.... And speaking of errors reminds me to acquaint you with the fate which you would have met to-night had not I intervened."

He rose and limped across the room, halting at a window whose draperies were drawn. He faced Trent.

"I am informed that Sarojini Nanjee, with the aid of the Great Magician, penetrated through the old passage into the Armory," he declared quietly, "and that she plans to leave the city to-night—with you. I am also told that she has led you to believe that you will travel to India—while she secretly conspires to have you murdered after leaving Shingtse-lunpo. This is for a twofold purpose, I understand. She wishes to rid herself of your presence, so she may continue with the jewels to Chinese Turkestan; and the other reason.... Well, I—er—believe there is an old wrong which she wishes to avenge. Last night a messenger left for India, with instructions from her to report to your Government that you have fled across Tibet, presumably to Mongolia, with the jewels—that you ran amuck, as it were."

He parted the window-draperies with one hand, motioning to Trent with the other. The Englishman got to his feet and joined him.

"Observe those men," Hsien Sgam directed, indicating a group of soldiers in the courtyard. "Within an hour they start for the ruined gateway of the old fortifications on the edge of the marsh, outside the city. Sarojini Nanjee must pass these ruins if she leaves Shingtse-lunpo, as the road from the Great Magician's Gate leads directly to the old gateway. There my men will wait. They have specific orders what to do.... Sarojini Nanjee will attend to the Great Magician and thus relieve me of that task."

The curtain dropped into place. Trent was struggling with insurgent thoughts.... Sarojini Nanjee—eleven o'clock.... Kerth.... Where was he—and Dana Charteris?... He sorted from the many incoherences a question that had been trembling on his tongue for the past half hour.

"What of Chavigny?" he asked.

"Chavigny?" Hsien Sgam repeated. "You will meet Chavigny before many hours."

Trent was possessed of a mad desire to laugh. Who was telling the truth, Sarojini Nanjee or Hsien Sgam?... Chavigny, the celebrated Chavigny!

"As I told you one night on shipboard," he heard the Mongol saying, "our troops are good fighters, but untrained. They need a competent leader—a tactician. Organization; training. Those are the necessary elements. And they must be taught with the technique of modern warfare, by some one who understands the mechanism of a great unit of men. If you will accept that post, your title will be that of Commanding General. From Shingtse-lunpo you will go into Inner Mongolia, where preparations are under way to launch a big offensive. We have already taken a few strides. On the fifth of this month Urga was captured and Ungern's 'White Guards' defeated. But without organized force all this work will have been accomplished for nothing.... You will be well repaid for your services. When I am Emperor of Mongolia I shall not forget."

Trent's aggressive jaw was shot forward; but for that his expression was unchanged.

"You seem to forget I am an Englishman," he reminded.

Hsien Sgam merely smiled. "Men have lost their identities before. Sarojini Nanjee's messenger is on his way to India. That will account for your absence to the Government."

Trent looked almost amused. "A sort of birthright-for-a-mess-of-pottage affair, isn't it?"

"I do not comprehend"—thus the Mongol.

Trent did not try to explain. He queried: "What if I prefer to do otherwise than as you suggest?"

"I am prepared against such a decision." That lurking smile returned. "Na-chung, who is a very wise councillor, suspected that your muleteer was—er—not as you represented him—or, I should say, her. I ordered an investigation.... That you were accompanied by a woman, evidently one to whom you are—er—attached, was all I could have wished for.... I acted. She has not been molested; nor will she be, if you accept the terms which I have offered."

Trent's nails dug fiercely into his palms. It was with an effort that he kept his face in an expressionless mold.

"And if I agree?"

"She will be returned to India, unharmed and with the proper escort."

"How can I be sure of that?"

"She will write to you from Darjeeling."

"You forget the councillor, Na-chung."

"We shall find him," Hsien Sgam stated confidently.

"Dead," Trent added. "He is hidden—hidden where you'll not easily find him. My muleteers are there—with instructions—and if they have not heard from me by midnight, they'll put an end to Na-chung."

Hsien Sgam continued to smile. "You will countermand that order," he said evenly.

"No," declared Trent, quite as evenly.

They faced each other for a space of seconds, neither speaking. Then the Mongol announced:

"If he is murdered, you will be charged with it and properly punished"—he paused and finished effectively—"after you have done the work which I intend you shall do. Otherwise, at the conclusion of the period of service you are free."

A reckless impulse stormed the battlement of Trent's control. Hsien Sgam seemed to sense it, for he spoke up.

"Consider well, major. One pays for a moment's folly in the coin of years."

What passed in Trent's mind the next few moments no man ever knew; it is doubtful if even Trent himself remembered afterward. His thoughts were laved in poison.... He felt something of purgatorial fire—a burning of brain and nerves. But in the heat was a sphere of starry luster—a face, alone cool and composed in the midst of what seemed some terrific volcanic disorder of the body. It was this luster that led him at length to a decision.

"There's no alternative." He heard his voice in a queer, separated manner. "When I have proof that Miss Charteris has reached India, I will do as you demand ... but...."

"But if you have the opportunity," Hsien Sgam cut in, linking his slender fingers and smiling, "you will furnish me with a passport to that—er—sulphurous dominion which your Christian Bible threatens. Be assured, major, I shall guard against any such—er—personal catastrophe."

Then he spoke to one of the soldiers, who immediately left the room. He turned back to Trent.

"We will go now—this very moment—to His Holiness, and—er—draw up the contract, so to speak, in his auspicious presence. This visit to Lhakang-gompa will serve a double purpose, for at the same time I shall initiate you into the mysteries of 'Thatsang,' or 'Falcon's Nest,' as you would say it—the room where the Falcon planned the recent activities in India. It will be necessary for you to ride to the monastery; therefore, I must have your word of honor not to—er—commit any act of violence that might force me to adopt an abortive policy."

The soldier reappeared, holding aside the scarlet curtains.

"You will precede me," directed Hsien Sgam, with a polite wave of his hand, evidently enjoying the exquisite satire of the situation.

Trent moved into the scarlet audience-chamber, followed by his Transparency the Governor of Shingtse-lunpo and his mailed bodyguard.

3

To Trent there was grim irony in that ride to Lhakang-gompa. Hsien Sgam's vermilion-lacquered sedan-chair swayed along at his side, and in front and rear was a file of leather-helmeted men. In a courtyard of the great building (they rode up a stone causeway to reach it) the Mongol left his sedan-chair and Trent dismounted. One of the soldiers took the lead, Trent walking next, with Hsien Sgam and the other guards in the rear—a formation whose strategic points the Englishman did not fail to perceive.

With their entrance into the lower halls of Lhakang-gompa the usual smell of incense and putridity, a combination of odors peculiarly Tibetan, assaulted their nostrils and clung as they climbed staircase after staircase; as they plunged along lamp-lit corridors where lamas moved like wraiths in the dimness; crossed courts and roofs, glimpsing the stars and the white flame of a rising moon; and even when they reached a heavily-carpeted, crimson-walled apartment that Hsien Sgam informed Trent was the first ante-chamber of SÂkya-mÛni's audience hall. A large room, this, and occupied by several lamas who sat at pearl-inlaid tables—chamberlains of the Yellow Pontiff. To one of these cardinals Hsien Sgam spoke, and the former parted lacquered sliding-doors and disappeared.

"I am told that His Holiness has been indisposed to-day," Hsien Sgam explained to Trent, "and has refused to see anyone, even his attendant cardinals. However, the Donyer-chenpo has gone to see if he will grant us an audience."

Trent showed little interest as they waited—but the pulse in his throat was throbbing hotly. He watched with expressionless eyes the lacquered doors from behind which the Donyer-chenpo, or chamberlain, would reappear. And at length the cardinal came. The doors parted and he stepped out, motioning to Hsien Sgam. The latter moved forward and held a short conversation with the prelate, then nodded to Trent, who, with the soldiers at his heels, joined them.

"His Holiness has consented to see us"—this briefly from the Mongol.

Beyond the lacquered doors was a stairway that took them into a chamber similar to the one they had left. Two lamas were the only occupants, one on either side of a great door covered with cerise and gold brocade and ornamented with knobs of gold filagree. Here they exchanged their shoes for soft black slippers, and here they left the soldiers.

The Donyer-chenpo pushed back the great door. They entered. Trent was confused by darkness; then came a swishing sound, and a thin line of light broadened into a triangle as draperies were pulled aside.

The first impression, due to the vastness of the audience hall and the dim glow of the butter-lamps, was one of space and gloom and mystery. A double line of pillars strove toward a chain-spanned impluvium through which stars were visible, and along the walls were idols and holy vessels-brazen bowls and cymbals and incense-burners. Toward the rear, at the end of the avenue of columns, was a raised portion of the floor, covered with yellow silks. There, beneath a canopy and seated upon a throne whose arms were carved lions, attended by the Kuchar Khanpo and the Solen-chenpo—state officials—was his Holiness, SÂkya-mÛni, the Grand Lama of Tibet. He wore the yellow mitre, yellow veil and yellow vestments that Trent had seen at the Festival of the Gods, and his slim hands rested motionless, as though wrought of bronze, upon the carved lions of the throne.

Hsien Sgam bowed low, whispering to Trent to do the same. As the latter drew erect he saw that the Donyer-chenpo had disappeared; the following instant he heard the muffled sound of a closing door behind him.

Meanwhile, SÂkya-mÛni motioned them forward, his yellow mitre nodding.

"His Holiness means for us to be seated on the rugs below the throne-daÏs," said Hsien Sgam in a hushed voice.

The two, Englishman and Mongol, took seats, cross-legged, upon the carpets before the raised portion of the floor that supported the pontifical throne. A thin voice sounded from under the veil....

"His Holiness bids you greeting," translated Hsien Sgam, "and prays that the blessing of the Three Konchog be upon you. In return, I shall give him your"—the shadow of a smile slid across the oblique eyes—"your—er—felicitations."

The two yellow-robed attendants then served tea in golden chalices. SÂkya-mÛni did not drink his, but blessed it and passed it to the Kuchar Khanpo.... Incense brushed Trent's face, like a tangible touch.... The ceremony of tea-drinking over, he waited restlessly for the next move.

The Grand Lama spoke in his thin voice to the attendants, who backed to a corridor at one side of the audience-hall and vanished, leaving Trent and Hsien Sgam alone with the Living Buddha.... SÂkya-mÛni was murmuring to himself—reciting a mantra, Trent imagined. There was something checked and imminent in the solemn quiet....

Suddenly SÂkya-mÛni ceased murmuring. He lifted one hand. Immediately Hsien Sgam got to his feet, instructing Trent to do the same. The Grand Lama rose, his yellow vestments shimmering faintly in the cathedral-dusk. He spoke. Trent, who was watching the Mongol out of the corner of his eye, saw a look of surprise dwell for a second in the latter's face; saw Hsien Sgam produce from under his garments an object that glinted like blue steel; saw him pass it to SÂkya-mÛni.

Then the reincarnation of Gaudama Siddartha removed mitre and veil with one hand (he held the glinting object in the other) and stepped down from the daÏs—only it was not SÂkya-mÛni who did this, but Euan Kerth in the vestments of the Lamaist pontiff; Euan Kerth, smiling his satanic smile and looking like some shaven-pated Mephistopheles.

4

The blood pulsed in Trent's temples. For once his stupefaction escaped the citadel of his impassivity. Nor could Hsien Sgam control his amazement. The Mongol stared—stared with the air of a man struggling to grasp something beyond his ken of thought, beyond possibility.

Kerth's voice broke the spell—proof to Trent that what he saw was no sorcery of the eyes.

"I'm not so sure our friend the Governor has no other firearms on his person. Suppose you investigate, major."

At the sound of the voice, a voice that spoke English, Hsien Sgam seemed to awaken to a realization of the situation. Surprise was replaced by a queer, half-dazed expression.

"I have been without wits," he said, more to himself than to the others. "I did not for a moment consider that there might be two—that...." Words perished on his lips. His breathing was audible—the heavy breathing of one suddenly stricken. He recovered enough to ask: "His Holiness—what have you done to him? Have you—"

"It's hardly my place to answer questions," drawled Kerth; "surely not my intention." Then: "Go ahead, major."

As Trent approached, Hsien Sgam lifted his hand.

"Am I to be forced to submit to the indignity of being searched?"

Neither Englishman answered, but Trent paused tentatively.

"If I give my word," Hsien Sgam pursued, "that I am unarmed, will not that be sufficient?"

"No weapon of any sort?"—thus Kerth, while his eyes sought Trent. The latter inclined his head slightly.

"None."

Something of the Mongol's poise and dignity had reasserted itself, and a faint, illusive smile—an almost tolerant smile—touched his woman's-mouth. His slender hands worked nervously.

"I daresay I can guess your thoughts." Kerth, who was smiling, addressed Hsien Sgam. "Your Transparency thinks I dare not use this,"—fingering the steel trigger-guard—"but in that you are mistaken. You must remember that whereas you are Governor, I am—well—" He touched the yellow vestments.

As Trent watched Hsien Sgam, an emotion almost of pity smote him. He felt the titanic conflict within the Mongol, the power—warped power—behind the Buddha-like face and the heretofore puzzling eyes (eyes that were no longer puzzling, but that mirrored the raw look of ancient evil, the bitter corrosion of disappointment); power that was facing defeat. Dream of empire, of pomp and regal splendor, rusted, as his every dream had done.... An unfinished vessel, this Hsien Sgam. (Fragments of the Mongol's story played like illuminating shafts among Trent's thoughts: the boy who wept for his father—who felt the strangle-grip of a great gray Babylon—the celibate to whom the wine of love turned stale.) The gift of life to Hsien Sgam had been ashes. All this Trent saw in his eyes—eyes that stared ahead with sick contemplation.

And now Hsien Sgam moved. He clasped his lithe, feminine hands; he took a few steps, slueing upon his twisted limb; paused; stood motionless; made a gesture of resignation.

"I am defeated," he declared in his soft voice, "but you will sink with me. It is as though you had ventured into a web; the threads will tangle you, and, like flies, you will hang there and die."

Kerth smiled. "Your teeth are extracted, Transparency," he replied. He removed another revolver from under his pallium, offering it to Trent. "Major, I think we can talk with more ease if we go to my"—this with a smile—"my apartments. There are certain matters I wish to discuss with his Transparency, and I fear we might be interrupted here."

He moved around the daÏs, pausing by the yellow brocade that hung behind the throne.

"Suppose I walk first, then his Transparency, then you, major. I believe that will prevent any complications."

In the rear of the daÏs, concealed by yellow draperies, was a door that gave access to a stairway. Kerth took the lead, his robes dragging upon the stone steps. The stairs mounted at a steep grade, broke their ascent on three landings, and brought them into a small space, facing coral-hued curtains. As Kerth gripped the center of the hangings, preparatory to parting them, he looked around, over his shoulder and Hsien Sgam's close-cropped head, at Trent.

"Be prepared, major," he drawled. "This is 'Thatsang' or, as we would say it, 'Falcon's Nest.'" He laughed—a low, rather grim chuckle. "You stand face to face with the secret of Lhakang-gompa."

With that he jerked the draperies apart and the clink of the metal rings from which they hung sent a slight shiver down Trent's spine. He stepped between the curtains, Hsien Sgam preceding him. He found himself in a long room. Its floor and walls were bare. At the far end, in an alcove-like space, raised and sectioned off from the rest of the apartment by a half-partition, was a bed. Yak-hair curtains partly hid it—only partly, for they did not conceal the limbs and the crimson garment of the body that lay upon the gold-fringed bed-robe.

Kerth had crossed the room. Now Trent halted at the break of the partition, Hsien Sgam at his side.

The face of the sleeper (Trent knew by the fall and rise of his breast that he was not dead) was Aryan, but the shape of the eyelids and brows suggested that the eyes, when open, were oblique. Lips thin and sensitive; features of an ascetic. The skull was high and shaven as bare as if hair had never grown upon it; a white bandage covered the right temple and sloped over the dome.... Trent lifted his eyes from the pale, yellow features to Kerth, who, with a slight smile, answered the inquisitive look.

"SÂkya-mÛni is the Falcon."

Trent looked down upon the wasted features; looked up again.

"He's been unconscious since noon to-day," Kerth explained. "This morning I attended a ceremony in the audience-hall. While I was saying a mantra, the idea occurred to me.... I crept into one of the corridors off the hall and hid there. When the lamas had gone, SÂkya-mÛni went behind the curtains in the rear of the throne, with two attendants. Soon the attendants reappeared ... and I went up. Unfortunately, in the tussle he struck his head. I'm afraid he's done up rather badly. Take a look, major. Meanwhile, Transparency"—his eyes fastened upon the Mongol—"be seated—here."

He indicated an armchair and Hsien Sgam sat down. Trent bent over SÂkya-mÛni.... After several minutes he straightened up.

"It's a bad cut, but I can't tell much without a closer examination. He has fever—pulse running up, too."

Hsien Sgam rose. "Is it quite serious, Major Trent? Do you think—"

"You will resume your seat, Transparency," ordered Kerth. The Mongol obeyed. "Now, major, tell me just what has happened to-day—and if you've learned anything about Miss Charteris."

Trent briefly summarized the situation. Kerth nodded absently when he had finished; fingered his revolver.

"We're a bit scattered," he commented. Then, after a pause: "Transparency, you will be good enough to say where you've hidden Miss Charteris."

Hsien Sgam sat like a carved Buddha; even his fingers ceased their restless playing upon the arms of the chair.

"If I refuse?"

Kerth thrust forward the blue muzzle of the revolver. "There's to be no parleying," he declared sternly, the smile gone from his face. "You've lost. Now come through."

After a moment Hsien Sgam said:

"She is at my residence."

"Good"—this from Kerth. "Before we leave you will write an order to have her taken to whatever place we specify." Then, as though dismissing that point as settled, he went on: "Hmm.... Quite scattered, I'd say: She at his house; we here; Trent's men with Na-chung; Sarojini Nanjee getting ready to leave; his Transparency's soldiers hidden at the ruined gate,"—a pause—"with orders to shoot Sarojini Nanjee.... Hmm...." Suddenly he smiled. "Excellent!... What's the hour, major?"

Trent pulled back his long sleeve. "Five to ten."

Kerth spoke to Hsien Sgam. "You will also send a guard to your men at the ruins, withdrawing them—but, no—no—won't do. Ends must meet.... We can't trust a messenger. And we must let Sarojini Nanjee leave the city, as she's planned; for she has the jewels—yet—damn!" His forehead crinkled into a frown. "Damn!" he repeated. "Ends must meet!"

Silence followed. Hsien Sgam did not stir. Once a faint sound, a shuddering sigh, came from the alcove-like space. Kerth was the first to speak, and his smile hinted that he had discovered a solution.

"You may not wholly approve, major," he began, "yet I see no other way. Why not go ahead and meet Sarojini Nanjee? Meanwhile, I'll have Miss Charteris freed, and she, in company with myself and his Transparency, can leave the city by the main gate and Amber Bridge. We'll reach the ruined gateway before you and Sarojini pass the Great Magician's Gate, which will give his Transparency time to forestall the soldiers and send them back to the city. Then we can wait, there at the gateway, for you. Sarojini may not be particularly pleased when she learns of my presence; but if she acts up, we have his Transparency to testify that she intended to do away with an officer of the empire. That ought to simplify her case."

"What of my muleteers?" Trent queried. "And Na-chung?"

"Na-chung isn't to be considered. As for your men—I can get word to them to meet us at the main gate. If there's trouble we can make good use of them. Of course, there's a risk—more for you than for me. Something might prevent us from reaching the soldiers in time, and—"

Hsien Sgam interrupted.

"You forget his Holiness. Will you leave him to die?"

"Hardly," Kerth answered. "After all that's happened, I fancy the Viceroy will be pleased to—to entertain his Holiness.... No, we sha'n't leave him to die. If all goes well, Major Trent and I can arrange to return to Lhakang-gompa."

"You think," said Hsien Sgam, "it will be easy to leave the city?"

Kerth made a deprecatory gesture. "That is not difficult. I shall ride in the sedan-chair of His Holiness SÂkya-mÛni, and until we pass Amber Bridge your Transparency will sit beside me to prevent any interference with our plans. There you may change to a pony and ride between two of the major's muleteers. Your own palanquin will be put to good use, as Miss Charteris can occupy that. And after we leave Shing-tse-lunpo, then to the South—Gyangtse—and into India."

Hsien Sgam smiled—that smile of inscrutable irony.

"You are only crawling deeper into the web," he asserted quietly. "It will fall upon you and you will go—like that—" The lithe hands spread out expressively.

Kerth coolly returned his smile. "If we're caught, you'll perish with us, in the same web. Threats are useless, Transparency. The scales have tilted. And your attitude doesn't become a prisoner. We can carry out our plans with you or without you, although much smoother with you. Accept my ultimatum—unconditional surrender—or reject it."

Hsien Sgam's lips twisted into that ineffaceable smile. His quiescence was absolute.

"You understand, if I thought my—my demise would prevent you from executing your plans, I would not hesitate to—er—clog the machinery. But it would be suicide without a purpose. Therefore, I can only accept."

"Unconditionally?"

"Unconditionally."

Hsien Sgam's chin sank into his breast.

"Now, major, do you approve of my plan?" asked Kerth. "If so, we'll go to the audience hall and I'll order the men to take you to your residence, and his Transparency and I will despatch messengers for Miss Charteris and your muleteers."

Trent nodded.

Kerth placed the mitre upon his head and let the veil fall over his features. A blue steel eye glittered in the folds of his robes—an eye that was focussed upon Hsien Sgam.

"Come, Transparency!"

Kerth leading, they left Falcon's Nest; left it with its silence and its brooding secrets.

5

A few minutes later Kerth was seated on the throne of SÂkya-mÛni (Trent and Hsien Sgam stood on the red carpets before the daÏs) and reaching toward a gong that hung from one of the carved lions of the chair. Following the mellow ring, the curtains in the other end of the chamber parted to admit the Donyer-chenpo, who bowed and stood waiting.

The thin voice sounded from under the yellow veil—a stream of Tibetan words. Trent wondered, irrelevantly, if it was really Kerth who spoke—Kerth of the satanic smile.

And now he saw the yellow-robed figure motioning him to leave, and backed slowly to where the Donyer-chenpo stood; backed between the parted draperies; and the curtains dropped, and he was in darkness.

In the first ante-chamber the Donyer-chenpo resumed his seat at the nacre-inlaid desk, among the other cardinals, and Trent continued with the soldiers. Back through the courts and corridors they went (each glimpse of the stars brought to Trent a sweet recollection of another lustrous pallor), and down the innumerable staircases. They emerged at length into the courtyard where the horses were waiting; mounted; rode out of Lhakang-gompa and down the causeway.

Afterward, Trent could remember no single incident of that brief ride from the lamasery; it was a panorama of moon and white walls and darkness. The bewildering events of the past few hours had left him in a state of mental confusion. The soldiers wheeled about at his gate, and he rode into the deserted quadrangle alone.

He was about to dismount when a shadow detached itself from the gloom of the garden—the garden, with its flaming hollyhocks. (Odd that he should think of flowers now!) It was the long-haired guide of the previous night. He grunted what Trent supposed was a greeting, and caught the bridle, guiding the pony back to the gate. Trent turned for a last look at the dark dwelling—the house where he first partook of the lover's eucharist. Then the Tibetan swung himself upon the pony, behind him, clamping his knees upon the beast's flanks, and Trent inhaled the reek of soiled clothing.

Through familiar streets they clattered, and over a stone bridge toward the city's ramparts. Few people were astir; dogs prowled in the lurking shadows. The temple of the Great Magician had a ghostly semblance as they approached it; its dome was spattered with moonlight, like a huge anthill flecked with drippings of glow-paint. Something in the sight of the bulk of masonry brought to Trent's mind what Sarojini Nanjee had said....

They passed the temple. A narrow foot-path took them to the Great Magician's Gate. As on the preceding night, there was no guard. When Trent's pony was brought to a halt, the Tibetan made a gesture which Trent interpreted to mean that he should stay there and slunk away along the path to the temple. Trent glanced at his watch as the man left.

To the north, in the maze of houses that lay flat and huddled beneath the sovereign structure of Lhakang-gompa, a dog was howling. Another answered it; another took it up; and the melancholy baying wavered from roof to roof—a tuneless dirge. Irrelevantly, Trent thought of a vermilion-lacquered sedan-chair that by this time should be at the ruined gateway. It was a sheer, breathless moment, a moment detached and charged with exquisite suspense.

The rattle of harness-chains drew him back to earth. His eyes swerved to the path from the temple. After a moment, shadows took shape in the moonlight—mounts and riders. He wheeled his pony and rode to meet the caravan.

Sarojini Nanjee sat erect upon a horse at the head of a string of mules; the scent of sandalwood awakened in him a queer alertness. She always breathed of earth-perfume—an odor of the senses. Beyond her were the looming shapes of three men—muleteers. Trent saw the contours of sacks on the pack-animals.

"Your men have left the city?" was her first question. Her breath came quickly and the black opals had been kindled in her eyes.

He answered with a nod.

She insinuated her hand into his; pressed his fingers.

"We win!" she whispered. "You and I!"

He smiled to himself, grimly. What Hsien Sgam had said was fresh in his ears. One of her men passed and opened the gate. Outside, on the embankment, she turned her mount, waiting at one side while the caravan moved out. Trent reined in his pony beside her.

"Look!" she commanded, pointing through the gate at the magnificent mass of Lhakang-gompa, above whose broken roofs the moon was poised. "Shingtse-lunpo—Lhakang-gompa—all! I hold them, like this!" And she made a gesture and laughed—that old familiar laugh that rippled low in her throat. "All is not finished! Nay! I promised you vengeance—and to-night, in a few minutes, you shall know that I keep my promises!"

Then she struck her horse in the flanks and dashed down the slope, to the head of the caravan. Trent followed. Behind, the gate closed softly and hoofs thudded in the mud of the road.

"To-night ... you shall know that I keep my promises!"

That rang in Trent's brain; rang and echoed and reeled away, and left him to grope for the meaning.

They rode on. Several times Sarojini Nanjee glanced over her shoulder. The ruins above the tunnel were reached, passed. Ahead the road swerved and lost itself in high rushes—rushes that swayed and sighed and shivered. Trent's hand hovered close to his revolver. The flesh over his spine crawled uncomfortably as they approached the end of the marsh-belt. He strained his eyes, but saw only the fringed line of tall reeds against the sky.... And now the white columns of the ruined gateway loomed, broken sentinels guarding the half-buried remains of an ancient fortification.

They were within a few yards of the gateway when, ahead, a horse whinnied.

Trent's heart leaped into his throat, and Sarojini Nanjee swiftly reined in her horse. Something gleamed in her hand.

From behind the shattered walls appeared a horseman—a robed horseman, phantom-like in the moonlight. Behind him rode another—another. They were fairly vomited through the gateway. Trent recognized Kerth at the head, Kee Meng and Hsaio behind.

The thing in Sarojini's hand coughed, and the red glare of discharged powder momentarily stained the darkness. But none of the three horsemen faltered. Before she could fire again Trent gripped her mount's bridle and dug his heels into his own pony. They plunged forward, side by side. He was almost dragged from the saddle, but he managed to remain seated—to cling to the bridle of Sarojini's horse. When they were outside the broken gate he jerked both animals to a standstill. Melted fire-opals blazed in the woman's eyes. But he had her revolver.

"You fool!"

Vitriol was in her voice—but he heard her only in a detached way, for he saw, swimming in the moonlight behind the wall, a sedan-chair, and in it the pale oval of a face. It was in the midst of mules and packs and several mounted men. Hsien Sgam was there, in the saddle, between two muleteers. Kerth, Kee Meng and Hsiao had drawn rein in the gateway, thus separating Sarojini Nanjee from her caravan.

This, a quick negative, snapped and printed upon Trent's brain.

From him the woman's eyes moved around the group—past Kerth, past the muleteers and the sedan-chair—to Hsien Sgam.

"You did this!" Her words stung with venom, and her eyes traveled back swiftly to Trent. "Perhaps he fooled you into betraying me—but ask him why he wanted you to believe Chavigny alive and see, then, if you want him as your ally!"

A moment of tenseness followed—a moment that seemed to lengthen into a dead interval of time. The very world ached with dumbness, ached and waited. Hsien Sgam, who sat stooped upon his pony, was the first to speak.

"Major Trent, you wish to know who murdered your friend. Sarojini Nanjee did it. But not with her own hand...." His words were like smooth pellets emerging from vats of molten metal. "I loved her," the Mongol declared; "loved her ... and I went to Gaya, to your house, when I learned of her interest in you.... And there I made a fatal mistake—"

His words were buried as a muffled detonation ruptured the quiet. An abrupt shock quivered the ground. Eyes swerved to the source of sound. For an infinitesimal moment the very universe seemed to hang in dreadful suspense; then came two violent throbs, like the blows of a seismic hammer. A terrific roar was born out of the womb of inter-stellar silence—a roar that smote the eardrums of those who heard, that pressed ponderously against the heart and whipped the blood into throat and nostrils and eyes.

From the towering mass of Lhakang-gompa rose a quick glare that stabbed up, sank, and with it the roofs and walls of the monastery.... Smoke belched upon the sky. The earth shook. The very stars seemed dim with dread, and a wraith of nebulous black veiled the face of the moon. It was as though the gigantic machinery of a planet had been suddenly crippled.

The hush that followed seemed to pluck from Trent's lungs the power to breathe. He thought the ground still heaved, that the rumbling was still pouring about his ears.... He was a pigmy in the midst of some cosmic disorder.... His pony snorted and trembled violently. For a space of seconds no one spoke; no one dared. All looked toward the cloud that was settling, doom-black, over what had been Lhakang-gompa, over the seamed and broken heart of Shingtse-lunpo!... And then came a soft, repressed voice—a herald of earth recalling them to its dominion after some awful furlough.

"Sarojini Nanjee is very clever. I should have known better than to oppose a woman."

A rattling laugh broke from Hsien Sgam, a laugh that was punctuated by a crash. Trent, turning, saw a rapier of corrosive flame leap from the Mongol's hand; saw it reflect hideously upon the features of Sarojini Nanjee. He sought to catch her, but she slipped from the saddle.... Her face stared up at him from a pool of black hair.

Again the rattling laugh—as the muleteers lunged at Hsien Sgam; again the crash and the rapier of corrosive flame, a broken rapier, that sank its hot shaft into the Mongol's own breast.... He hung limp between the muleteers, and a shining thing dropped from his hand to the ground. But his eyes were open. Trent saw them; Kerth, who had dismounted, saw them.

"I regret that I killed your friend, Major Trent"—the Mongol spoke in a stricken voice—"I regret, too, that I was forced to close the lips of a native who appeared at an inopportune time. It is unpardonable, major, that I stabbed this Captain Manlove—instead—of you."

Then he swayed; fell forward upon the neck of his mount. He was still alive when Trent reached him, but the Buddha-like face seemed shrunken and the oblique eyes, revealed by the searching brilliance of the moonlight, were half closed with pain. He smiled in a twisted, grotesque manner.

"Mysteries are exquisite things, major," he whispered. "Consider how delightful it—it will be, in years to come, to—to wonder whether Chavigny ... ah, Shinje!... whether he was killed in Delhi, as Sarojini claims, or died in—in Lhakang-gompa; and to wonder if she really meant to—to murder you, or if I—I lied—" He laughed softly. "You have heard of the scorpion, major, who, surrounded, stings himself to death...."

They had to lift him from the pony, and Trent, looking down upon the huddled body, knew it did not belong to the boy who went forth from Mongolia with the dream of a messiah shining in his heart.