"Come in, come in, Sir Thomas," he said, peering out at the white curtain. "What a dreadful morning! I've been here some months now, but I have never seen it so bad as this. I daresay it will blow off by nine o'clock or so when the sun gets up."
"It's nine o'clock now," I told him.
He started violently.
"Then my servant also is at fault," he said. "I ordered my coffee for eight. I was reading far into the night and must have overslept myself. This is very curious."
"Do you know, I don't quite like it, Pu-Yi. I've come all the way from the pavilion in the Palace gardens and haven't heard the least sound of any sort whatever."
We passed through a lobby and entered the great library, which was cold and gray as a tomb.
Pu-Yi snapped at a switch, then at another. Nothing happened.
"The electric light is off!" he cried. "What an extraordinary thing!"
"Mine wasn't," I said. "I got out of bed and dressed by it."
He did not reply, but took down the speaking part of a telephone and turned the handle of the box. In that gray light his thin face, with its expression of strained attention, was one I shall not easily forget.