'Why do you do that?' I asked, determined, if I must follow Pellmelli, at all events not to follow his example.
'It is the manner of the tribe of Interviewers, my daughter. Ours is a blessed task, yet must we feign humility, or the savage people kick us and drive us forth with our garments rent.'
He now humbly tapped at a door, and a strange voice cried,
'Entrez!'
Pellmelli (whose Russian is his strong point) paused in doubt, but I explained that the word was French for 'come in.'
He crawled in on his stomach, while I followed him erect, and we found ourselves before a strange kind of tent. It had four posts, and a broidered veil was drawn all round it.
Within the veil the sorcerer was concealed, and he asked in a gruff tone,
'Wadyerwant?'
Pellmelli explained that he had come to receive a brief personal statement for the Budget.
The Voice replied, without hesitation, 'The Centuries and the Æons pass, and I too make the pass. Je saute la coupe,' he added, in a foreign tongue. 'While thy race wore naught but a little blue paint, I dwelt among the forgotten peoples. The Red Sea knows me, and the Nile has turned scarlet at my words. I am Khoot Hoomi, I am also the Chela of the Mountain!'