The Magic Curtain

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER V THE SECRET PLACE

  Petite Jeanne was a person of courage. Times there had been when, as achild living with the gypsies of France, she had believed that she saw aghost. At the heart of black woods, beneath a hedge on a moonless nightsome white thing lying just before her had moved in the mostblood-chilling fashion. Never, on such an occasion, had Jeanne turned toflee. Always, with knees trembling, heart in her throat, she had marchedstraight up to the "ghost." Always, to be sure, the "ghost" had vanished,but Jeanne had gained courage by such adventures. So now, as she glideddown the soft-carpeted, circular staircase with the heavy odor of incenserising before her and the play of eerie green lights all about her, shetook a strong grip on herself, bade her fluttering heart be still, andsteadily descended into the mysterious unknown.

  The scene that met her gaze as at last she reached those lower levels,was fantastic in the extreme. A throng of little brown people, dressed inrichest silks, their faces shining strangely in the green light, sat insmall circles on rich Oriental rugs.

  Scattered about here and there all over the room were low pedestals andon these pedestals rested incense burners. Fantastic indeed were theforms of these burners: ancient dragons done in copper, eagles of brasswith wings spread wide, twining serpents with eyes of green jade, andfaces, faces of ugly men done in copper. These were everywhere.

  As Jeanne sank silently to a place on the floor, she felt that some greatevent in the lives of these people was about to transpire. They did notspeak; they whispered; and once, then again, and yet again, their eyesstrayed expectantly to a low stage, built across the far end of the room.

  "What is to happen?" the girl asked herself. She shuddered. To forgetthat she was in a secret place at the very heart of a Chinese templebuilt near the center of a great city--this was impossible.

  "I shouldn't be here," she chided herself. "Something may happen to me. Imay be detained. I may not be able to reach the Opera House in time. Andthen--"

  She wondered what that would mean. She realized with a sort of shock thatshe was strangely indifferent to it all. Truth was, events had so shapedthemselves that she was at that moment undecided where her own best goodlay. She had ventured something, had begun playing the role of a boy. Shehad done this that she might gain a remote end. The end now seemed veryremote indeed. The perils involved in reaching that end had increasedfour-fold.

  "Why go back at all?" she asked herself. "As Pierre I can die verycomfortably. As Petite Jeanne I can live on. And no one will ever know. Iam--"

  Her thoughts were interrupted, not by a sound nor a movement, but by asudden great silence that had fallen, like a star from the sky at night,upon the assembled host of little people.

  Petite Jeanne was not a stranger to silence. She had stood at the edge ofa clearing before an abandoned cabin, far from the home of any living manjust as the stars were coming out, when a hush had fallen over all; not aleaf had stirred, not a bird note had sounded, and the living, breathingworld had seemed far away. She had called that silence.

  She had drifted with idle paddle in a canoe far out upon the glimmeringsurface of Lake Huron. There, alone, with night falling, she had listeneduntil every tiniest wavelet had gone to rest. She had heard the throb ofa motor die away in the distance. She had felt rather than heard thebreath of air stirred by the last lone seagull on his way to some rockyledge for rest. She had at last listened for the faintest sound, then hadwhispered:

  "This is silence."

  It may have been, but never had a silence impressed her as did thesilence of this moment as, seated there on the floor, far from herfriends, an uninvited guest to some weird ceremony, she awaited withbated breath that which was to come.

  She had not long to wait. A long tremulous sigh, like the tide sweepingacross the ocean at night, passed over the motionless throng; a sigh,that was all.

  But Petite Jeanne? She wished to scream, to rise and dash out of the roomcrying, "Fire! Fire!"

  She did not scream. Something held her back. Perhaps it was the sigh, andperhaps the silence.

  The thing that was happening was weird in the extreme. On the stage acurtain was slowly, silently closing. No one was near to close it. Itappeared endowed with life. This was not all. The curtain was aflame.Tongues of fire darted up its folds. One expected this fire to roar. Itdid not. Yet, as the little French girl, with heart in throat and fingernails cutting deep, sat there petrified, flames raced up the curtainagain and yet again. And all the time, in great, graceful folds, it wasgliding, silently gliding from the right and the left.

  "Soon it will close," she told herself. "And then--"

  Only one thought saved Jeanne from a scream that would have betrayed her;not a soul in that impassive throng had moved or spoken. It was borne inupon her that here was some form of magic which she did not know.

  "It's a magic curtain." These words, formed by her lips were not so muchas whispered.

  But now from a dark corner of the stage a figure appeared. A weirdstooping figure he was, clothed all in white. He moved toward the curtainwith slow, halting steps. He seemed desirous of passing between the foldsof the curtain before the opening; yet a great fear appeared to hold himback.

  At this moment there came to Jeanne's mind words from a very ancientbook:

  "_Draw not nigh hither. Put off thy shoes from thy feet._"

  "The burning bush!" she whispered. "It burned but was not consumed; amagic bush. This is a magic curtain."

  "_Remove thy shoes._"

  She seemed to hear someone repeat these words.

  Her hands went to her feet. They were fully clad. A quick glance to rightand left assured her that not another person in the room wore shoes.

  "My shoes will betray me!" Consternation seized her. One look backward, astealthy creeping toward the soft-carpeted stair, another stealthy moveand she was on her way out.

  But would she make it? Her heart was in her throat. A quarter of the wayup she was obliged to pause. She was suffocating with fear.

  "I must be calm," she whispered. "I must! I must!" Of a sudden lifeseemed a thing of solemn beauty. Somehow she must escape that she mightlive on and on.

  Once again she was creeping upward. Did a hand touch her foot? Wassomeone preparing to seize her? With an effort, she looked down. No onewas following. Every eye was glued upon the magic curtain. The curtainwas closed. The white-robed figure had vanished. What had happened? Hadhe passed through? Had the curtain consumed him? She shuddered. Then,summoning all her courage, she leaped up the stairs, glided silentlyacross the room above, and passed swiftly on until she gained the openair.

  Then how she sped away! Never had she raced so swiftly and silently asnow.

  It was some time before she realized how futile was her flight. No onepursued her.

  In time she was able to still her wildly beating heart. Then she turnedtoward home.

  Once she stopped dead in her tracks to exclaim: "The magic curtain! Oh!Why did I run away?"

  Then, as another mood seized her, she redoubled her pace. Florence, shehoped, awaited her with a roaring fire, a cup of hot chocolate and a goodscolding.