the circle of chairs, and work your way to the door of the next
room. There are hangings there; go through them. You'll find light enough
in the next room to get to the door into the hall. First stuff the robe
under the sofa. You'll _find_ your hat under there. You left it here when
you came, and I tucked it away. You'd better wear the slippers down to
the street. Never mind about returning them--unless you care to come.
Now, be careful."

"The Japanese--where are they?"

"At the other side of the circle. Don't worry about them. They're only
kids when it comes to my game. Now, wait till I get the things I need."
She slipped past him in the closet, and he heard faint rustlings as she
gathered her paraphernalia. Soon she was back at the panel. The last
stanza of the hymn was drawing to a close. "Be sure you follow
directions," she whispered.

"I will." He pressed her hand gratefully.

"And--and you won't forget me."

With a sudden yearning that seemed to be beyond her control, she leaned
her body against him. Her warm breath was on his face; her arm found its
way around him and held him convulsively.

"Oh," she whispered, "I can't bear to have you go. Don't forget
me--please don't forget me."

"I shall never forget you, and what you have done for me," he answered
gravely.

"You will come back and see me--sometime?"

"I will come back. And I should like to bring a friend, who will have
even more cause to thank you than I have."

"A friend?" A tinge of apprehension colored the question: "A--a woman?"

"Yes."

The soft curves of her body were quickly withdrawn from him.

"Oh," she whispered, "I don't believe I want to see her."

For a moment she stood motionless. Then she said:

"Are you sorry you kissed me?"

"No," he answered, "I am not."

Her lips brushed his forehead, and he was alone. Groping with one hand,
he assured himself that the panel remained open. All in black, he awaited
the signal.

And now strange manifestations began in the room without. There were
rappings, some faint, some loud--coming apparently from all quarters.
Invisible fingers swept gently across the strings of a guitar. Then came
the soft clangor of a gong--once, twice, three times.

Orme slipped through the panel, into the cabinet. Keeping close to the
wall, he moved to the left and worked out into the room. The rappings
were now louder than before--loud and continuous enough to cover any
slight sound he might make. A littl