"You were always a fool, Arnold," she told him. "Another moment and I might have said that to the north, across Mongolia, lies Russia ... and there, the portals of the world ... you and I...." She smiled again, and there was a trace of bitterness in it. "Oh, yes, I can forget Jehelumpore—can forgive. Said I not that I am the Swaying Cobra, that I dance for those I love, but have only venom for those I hate? Now, Arnold, you are your old Anglo-Saxon self again—oh, you English, with your 'sense of honor'—and to-night you will start for India and your humdrum life. Yes, we will leave Shingtse-lunpo to-night, with these"—she made a gesture—"and for a while you will be a hero—and then—" She broke off, still smiling; shrugged. "Then, in the years that follow, you will often remember that night in Tibet when the Swaying Cobra might have offered you the wealth of an empire ... and perhaps you will regret your Anglo-Saxon sentimentalism."
Then she turned and placed in the chest the carpet whose only gift to men, down through the years, was a dream of crime. Trent drew one hand across his moist forehead, as though to wipe away the obfuscations of a nightmare. The recollection of his weakness came as a hot accusation. His lips had touched the cup of delirium, and of that shuddering moment there remained but the memory—gray anti-climax.
"We dare not remain here longer," announced Sarojini. "The Great Magician is a coward, and if we are too long we shall find him chattering like the ape that he is. I will give you your instructions now. Listen well. To-night—it must be near dawn now—I shall have a pack-train ready, and in barley sacks, upon the animals, will be the jewels. You will send your caravan out of the city beforehand, with instructions to wait on the road a mile beyond Amber Bridge. Meanwhile, at eleven o'clock—remember, eleven—a man will be at your house and will guide you to the gate by which we left the city this morning, the Great Magician's Gate. There I will meet you.
"The gems will not be missed until the following day—and I have taken precautions to cover our trail. Yesterday a man left with a caravan of yaks, and several miles beyond the tchorten outpost he is waiting. There we will change pack-animals. He will go north, along the road to Mongolia, with the ponies and mules; while we will travel south, with the yaks. The soldiers at the outpost will describe us as having been on mules, and our pursuers will follow the tracks of the horses and mules. When they discover their mistake we will be near the border of India—for we shall travel along the Himalayas to Gyangtse. There the District Agent will protect us."
"Can my muleteers leave Shingtse-lunpo without passports?" Trent questioned.
She nodded. "A passport is necessary only when one wishes to enter; it is not required at all of Tibetans.... Come, we must go."
They left the recess in the wall, closed the panel and returned to the vast, dim Armory. Again the blank sides of the boxes intrigued Trent. Sarojini, carrying the flashlight, preceded him through the aperture in the floor and stood on the stair, directing the ray up while he fitted the stone into place. Then they descended into the crypt.
The Great Magician was waiting as they had left him—sitting cross-legged on the floor. Extinguishing the lamp, he placed it upon the bottom step and locked the door.
Back through the tunnel, with its cold, earthy odors, they went; reached the crypt in the swamp; ascended into the ruins. It was still dark. The rain had stopped, but a lingering moisture saturated the cold air. Under the gray barren sky they crossed the marsh and entered the city. The Tibetan who guided Trent to the Great Magician's temple was waiting just within the gate, and there the Englishman parted with Sarojini Nanjee.
"This man will come for you to-night," she whispered in English. "Be ready. To-night we win or lose, Arnold—and if we lose, Hsien Sgam will have us put to death as he did those mute fools who were executed in the amphitheater yesterday!"