Paul Harley?"
"Yes?"
"Your last opportunity has come. For your own future or for that
of the world you seem to care little or nothing. Are you still
determined to oppose our wishes?"
"I am."
"You have yet an hour. Your final decision will be demanded of
you at the end of that time."
Faint sounds of withdrawal followed these words and Harley
suddenly discovered himself to be very cold. The note of danger
had touched him. For long it had been silent. Now it clamoured
insistently. He knew beyond all doubt that he was approaching a
crisis in his life. At its nature he could not even guess.
He began to pace the room nervously, listening for he knew not
what. His mind was filled with vague imaginings; when at last
came an overture to the grim test to be imposed upon him.
A slight metallic sound drew his glance in the direction of the
gilded screen. A sliding door of thick plate glass had been
closed behind it, filling the space between the metal work and
the curtain. Then--the light in the brass lantern became
extinguished.
Standing rigidly, fists clenched, Paul Harley watched the
curtain. And as he watched, slowly it was drawn aside. He found
himself looking into a long room which appeared to be practically
unfurnished.
The floor was spread with rugs and at the farther end folding
doors had been opened, so that he could see into a second room,
most elegantly appointed in Persian fashion.
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