"Sorry you've got to wear that get up of yours, Tony," he grinned, as he smeared the cold cream over his face. "But it isn't so bad. Lighter than my outfit. You've got to answer the buzzer, you know." Imam Singh smiled in response.
Rajah Brahman's well-formed beard was yielding to the cold-cream treatment. The man stood smooth-shaven, and surveyed his countenance in a small mirror that he dug up from among the cushions of the throne.
"Remember the time I grew one, Tony?" he asked, rubbing the spots where the beard had been. "It looked all right, but it was a nuisance. The fake one means more work for you, but it's the best idea." The man pulled a cigarette pack from his trousers pocket. He lighted a cigarette and puffed it. He seemed to enjoy its flavor as a welcome change from the odor of incense.
The transformed face of Rajah Brahman bore little of the dignity which it had formerly possessed. It was sallow, but not nearly so dark as it had been.
It was the face of a schemer — not that of a master. The eyes which had seemed languorous and penetrating were now crafty and shifting.
"This is better than an hour of deliberation, Tony," declared the new-visaged rajah, buttoning his collar.
"Listen — yes, that's the buzzer. Slide out to the door and see who it is. I'll switch the light off, here." The servant was gone, and the room was plunged in darkness a moment later. Only the glowing end of Rajah Brahman's cigarette was visible. It poised in mid-air, while its owner awaited Imam Singh's return. Soon, the curtains parted, and the slight glow from the outer room showed a face which Rajah Brahman recognized, even in that dim light.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were the one who rang. Wait until I switch on the light—"
"Never mind," interrupted the quiet voice of the visitor. "The darkness will suit me. I don't want to be disillusioned, Bert. Wait until I find a chair."
The speaker bumped into one a moment later and sat down, to stare toward the lighted end of the cigarette.