She looked ahead and forgot the closing door when she saw the sight before her.
The brass gate was open, and beyond was a most magnificent room — a tiny temple of most fantastic appearance. All the other gorgeous apartments of Henri Zayata’s home faded into insignificance when compared to this one.
Softly, the girl stole forward. Chandra was beside her as she found her way between piles of cushions and approached a thronelike chair at the far end of the room.
“It is the throne of Charn,” said the Burmese, in a whisper. “Do not touch it.”
MARGARET looked at the golden carvings of the throne. Then she noticed a huge upright box at the right of the room. It looked like a mummy case. Upon it was the carved representation of a woman’s face — a solemn face with staring eyes.
“The home of Kali,” whispered the Burmese in an awed tone. Margaret noted that the huge case was girded with bands of a silver metal; these were solid bars.
“It shall not be opened,” said Chandra solemnly. “Never — until — ” His voice became a succession of low words in his native tongue.
“Come,” said Chandra, as Margaret still stared at the marvelous furnishings of the sanctuary. “Come! The master does not wish us to stay here long.”
The girl followed the Burmese toward the door. Suddenly she stopped. Just within the door, standing beside an Oriental tapestry, the girl’s eyes saw a human figure.
It was the form of a man in black — a tall shape garbed in a flowing cloak. The head was covered by a soft hat that turned down to hide the eyes.