"Yes, I think I do."
"Very well."
The man's voice was already compelling. It had a musical vibration in its soft bass. Again Rich tilted the shade of the lamp, so that its light shone on his own face. From his pocket he took a coin, a new and polished which shone with bright silver.
"Mrs. Fane, I'm going to hold this a little above the level of your eyes. I just want you to look at it. Look at it steadily. That's all. It will be easy. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"The rest of you, please be quiet. It is very quiet."
Afterwards, Frank Sharpless was never quite sure how the thing happened.
The room seemed to be full of a soft voice, almost whispering. It went on interminably. It seemed to be leading them past a barrier, into another world. Sharpless could never recall what it said, except that it dealt with sleep, drugging sleep, sleep within dreams, sleep muffled beyond life. It affected even those who were not looking past that bright-shining coin into Rich's eyes.
The clock did not tick; no breath of air stirred in the trees outside; no sense of time existed.
''Sleep now," murmured the voice. "Sleep softly. Sleep deep. Sleep."