Fire-Tongue

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER XXVII. AT HILLSIDE

  Phil Abingdon arrived at Hillside in a state of mind which she foundherself unable to understand. Mrs. McMurdoch, who had accepted theinvitation under protest, saying that if Doctor McMurdoch had been athome he would certainly have disapproved, had so utterly fallen underthe strange spell of Ormuz Khan, that long before they had come toHillside she was hanging upon his every word in a way which was almostpathetic to watch.

  On the other hand, Phil Abingdon had taken up a definite attitude ofdefense; and perceiving this, because of his uncanny intuitiveness, thePersian had exerted himself to the utmost, more often addressing Philthan her companion, and striving to regain that mastery of her emotionswhich he had formerly achieved, at least in part.

  Her feelings, however, were largely compounded of fear, and fearstrengthened her defense. The repulsive part of Ormuz Khan's characterbecame more apparent to her than did the fascination which she had onceexperienced. She distrusted him, distrusted him keenly. She knew at thebottom of her heart that this had always been so, but she had sufferedhis attentions in much the same spirit as that which imbues thenaturalist who studies the habits of a poisonous reptile.

  She knew that she was playing with fire, and in this knowledge lay adangerous pleasure. She had the utmost faith in her own common sense,and was ambitious to fence with edged tools.

  When at last the car was drawn up before the porch of Hillside, andOrmuz Khan, stepping out, assisted the ladies to alight, for one momentPhil Abingdon hesitated, although she knew that it was already toolate to do so. They were received by Mr. Rama Dass, his excellency'scourteous secretary, whom she had already met, and whom Ormuz Khanpresented to Mrs. McMurdoch. Almost immediately:

  "You have missed Mr. Harley by only a few minutes," said Rama Dass.

  "What!" exclaimed Phil, her eyes opening very widely.

  "Oh, there is no occasion for alarm," explained the secretary in hisurbane manner. "He has ventured as far as Lower Claybury station. Thevisit was unavoidable. He particularly requested that we should commenceluncheon, but hoped to be back before we should have finished."

  Phil Abingdon glanced rapidly from the face of the speaker to that ofOrmuz Khan. But her scrutiny of those unreadable countenances availedher nothing. She was conscious of a great and growing uneasiness; andMrs. McMurdoch, misunderstanding the expression upon her face, squeezedher arm playfully.

  "Cheer up, dear," she whispered; "he will be here soon!"

  Phil knew that her face had flushed deeply. Partly she was glad of heremotions, and partly ashamed. This sweet embarrassment in which therewas a sort of pain was a new experience, but one wholly delightful.She laughed, and accepting the arm of Ormuz Khan, walked into a veryEnglish-looking library, followed by Rama Dass and Mrs. McMurdoch. Thehouse, she thought, was very silent, and she found herself wondering whyno servants had appeared.

  Rama Dass had taken charge of the ladies' cloaks in the hall, and inspite of the typical English environment in which she found herself,Phil sat very near to Mrs. McMurdoch on a settee, scarcely listening tothe conversation, and taking no part in it.

  For there was a strange and disturbing air of loneliness about Hillside.She would have welcomed the appearance of a butler or a parlourmaid,or any representative of the white race. Yes: there lay the root ofthe matter--this feeling of aloofness from all that was occidental,a feeling which the English appointments of the room did nothing todispel. Then a gong sounded and the party went in to lunch.

  A white-robed Hindu waited at table, and Phil discovered his movementsto be unpleasantly silent. There was something very unreal about it all.She found herself constantly listening for the sound of an approachingcar, of a footstep, of a voice, the voice of Paul Harley. This waitingpresently grew unendurable, and:

  "I hope Mr. Harley is safe," she said, in a rather unnatural tone."Surely he should have returned by now?"

  Ormuz Khan shrugged his slight shoulders and glanced at adiamond-studded wrist watch which he wore.

  "There is nothing to fear," he declared, in his soft, musical voice. "Heknows how to take care of himself. And"--with a significant glance ofhis long, magnetic eyes--"I am certain he will return as speedily aspossible."

  Nevertheless, luncheon terminated, and Harley had not appeared.

  "You have sometimes expressed a desire," said Ormuz Khan, "to see theinterior of a Persian house. Permit me to show you the only reallycharacteristic room which I allow myself in my English home."

  Endeavouring to conceal her great anxiety, Phil allowed herself to beconducted by the Persian to an apartment which realized her dreams ofthat Orient which she had never visited.

  Three beautiful silver lanterns depended from a domed ceiling in whichwonderfully woven tapestry was draped. The windows were partly obscuredby carved wooden screens, and the light entered through little panelsof coloured glass. There were cushioned divans, exquisite pottery, and aplayful fountain plashing in a marble pool.

  Ormuz Khan conducted her to a wonderfully carven chair over which aleopard's skin was draped and there she seated herself. She saw througha wide doorway before her a long and apparently unfurnished room dimlylighted. At the farther end she could vaguely discern violet-coloureddraperies. Ormuz Khan gracefully threw himself upon a divan to the rightof this open door.

  "This, Miss Abingdon," he said, "is a nearly exact reproduction ofa room of a house which I have in Ispahan. I do not claim that it istypical, but does its manner appeal to you?"

  "Immensely," she replied, looking around her.

  She became aware of a heavy perfume of hyacinths, and presently observedthat there were many bowls of those flowers set upon little tables, andin niches in the wall.

  "Yet its atmosphere is not truly of the Orient."

  "Are such apartments uncommon, then, in Persia?" asked Phil, strivingvaliantly to interest herself in the conversation.

  "I do not say so," he returned, crossing one delicate foot over theother, in languorous fashion. "But many things which are typically ofthe Orient would probably disillusion you, Miss Abingdon."

  "In what way?" she asked, wondering why Mrs. McMurdoch had not joinedthem.

  "In many subtle ways. The real wonder and the mystery of the East lienot upon the surface, but beneath it. And beneath the East of to-daylies the East of yesterday."

  The speaker's expression grew rapt, and he spoke in the mystic mannerwhich she knew and now dreaded. Her anxiety for the return of PaulHarley grew urgent--a positive need, as, meeting the gaze of the long,magnetic eyes, she felt again, like the touch of cold steel, all thepenetrating force of this man's will. She was angrily aware of the factthat his gaze was holding hers hypnotically, that she was meeting itcontrary to her wish and inclination. She wanted to look away but foundherself looking steadily into the coal-black eyes of Ormuz Khan.

  "The East of yesterday"--his haunting voice seemed to reach her from agreat distance--"saw the birth of all human knowledge and human power;and to us the East of yesterday is the East of today."

  Phil became aware that a sort of dreamy abstraction was creeping overher, when in upon this mood came a sound which stimulated her weakeningpowers of resistance.

  Dimly, for all the windows of the room were closed, she heard a car comeup and stop before the house. It aroused her from the curious conditionof lethargy into which she was falling. She turned her head sharplyaside, the physical reflection of a mental effort to remove her gazefrom the long, magnetic eyes of Ormuz Khan. And:

  "Do you think that is Mr. Harley?" she asked, and failed to recognizeher own voice.

  "Possibly," returned the Persian, speaking very gently.

  With one ivory hand he touched his knee for a moment, the onlyexpression of disappointment which he allowed himself.

  "May I ask you to go and enquire?" continued Phil, now wholly mistressof herself again. "I am wondering, too, what can have become of Mrs.McMurdoch."

  "I will find out," said Ormuz Khan.

  He rose, hi
s every movement possessing a sort of feline grace. He bowedand walked out of the room. Phil Abingdon heard in the distance themotor restarted and the car being driven away from Hillside. She stoodup restlessly.

  Beneath the calm of the Persian's manner she had detected the presenceof dangerous fires. The silence of the house oppressed her. She was notactually frightened yet, but intuitively she knew that all was not well.Then came a new sound arousing active fear at last.

  Someone was rapping upon one of the long, masked windows! Phil Abingdonstarted back with a smothered exclamation.

  "Quick!" came a high, cool voice, "open this window. You are in danger."

  The voice was odd, peculiar, but of one thing she was certain. It wasnot the voice of an Oriental. Furthermore, it held a note of command,and something, too, which inspired trust.

  She looked quickly about her to make sure that she was alone. And then,running swiftly to the window from which the sound had come, she moved aheavy gilded fastening which closed it, and drew open the heavy leaves.

  A narrow terrace was revealed with a shrubbery beyond; and standingon the terrace was a tall, thin man wearing a light coat over eveningdress. He looked pale, gaunt, and unshaven, and although the regard ofhis light eyes was almost dreamy, there was something very tense in hispose.

  "I am Nicol Brinn," said the stranger. "I knew your father. You havewalked into a trap. I am here to get you out of it. Can you drive?"

  "Do you mean an automobile?" asked Phil, breathlessly.

  "A Rolls Royce."

  "Yes."

  "Come right out."

  "My furs! my hat!"

  "Something bigger is at stake."

  It was all wildly bizarre, almost unbelievable. Phil Abingdon hadexperienced in her own person the insidious power of Ormuz Khan. Shenow found herself under the spell of a personality at least as forceful,although in a totally different way. She found herself running through awinding path amid bushes, piloted by this strange, unshaven man, to whomon sight she had given her trust unquestioningly!

  "When we reach the car," he said over his shoulder, "ask noquestions--head for home, and don't stop for anything--on two legs or onfour. That's the first thing--most important; then, when you know you'resafe, telephone Scotland Yard to send a raid squad down by road, and doit quick."