Their conversation was broken by the entrance of Kaweeka. Unannounced and without deigning to knock she entered the room, and both men rose to their feet hurriedly.
Alan stood with folded arms and a stern expression upon his face. The moment’s madness of the yesterday had passed. He knew the woman, siren, devil, call her what you will, to be sensuous and foul—and his passion had passed, leaving him firm in his strength and with power to resist her.
Like a serpent she glided up to them, and touched them playfully on their cheeks, and then, ignoring Desmond entirely, she held out her arms invitingly to Alan. Sickened he turned away, but she came up behind him, and put her arms about his neck. Brutally he pulled them apart and flung her from him with a very British “damn”—which, though the word might be unintelligible to her, left the meaning clear and plain. A look of fury, followed by one of malicious hatred, passed over her features, and she turned abruptly from Alan to Desmond, and in a low monotonous tone crooned in her own language to him.
Desmond fought against her powerful wiles for some time, but he was frail, and her all pervading power drew him nearer and nearer. Once more her arms were open, and Desmond was drawn into them as a fish is drawn into a net.
Kaweeka gave a low chuckle, and turned in triumph to Alan. With a half step forward he raised his hand as though he would strike her, then drew back in time, turned quickly and left them alone. Up and down the outer room he paced and watched from the opening the stream of purple people walking up and down the street—men, women and children, all bent on work or pleasure. In a way they seemed to be civilized, yet it was a civilization unknown to the upper world. An oppression came over him and he rushed to the door and tried it. It was unlocked. That was more than he had hoped for, and he hurried down the stairs to the outer door. But there his progress was impeded, for a sentry on guard drew a peculiar kind of spear and prevented his passing.
Alan cursed and swore at him, and then tried more pacific measures to get his way; but the man was impervious to everything, and Alan retraced his steps and took refuge in a little alcove not far from the main entrance. Suddenly a hand on his shoulder startled him, and turning he saw Desmond looking at him in a shamefaced manner.
“We can go out, Kaweeka says,—at least that is what I understand her to mean. Will you come now, Lanny?”
As he used the old boyish name, Alan felt a sob rise in his throat and he grasped Desmond’s hand.
“Come on! old boy,” said he, “I want to talk to you.”
Kaweeka was standing near the door as they reached it, and she waved to them to intimate they were free to go out—but as they passed her they heard her issue a command to the guard at the door who followed them, and although they realized that he was for them a protection among the wild people of the underworld, yet it stripped them of all hope of ultimate escape.