"Dinner was excellent," I murmured, looking at myself in the mirror with satisfaction. "The apartment is perfectly arranged. Yes, but...."
I could not repress a shudder when I suddenly recalled that room of red marble.
The clock struck half past four.
Someone rapped gently on the door. The tall white Targa, who had brought me, appeared in the doorway.
He stepped forward, touched me on the arm and signed for me to follow.
Again I followed him.
We passed through interminable corridors. I was disturbed, but the warm water had given me a certain feeling of detachment. And above all, more than I wished to admit, I had a growing sense of lively curiosity. If, at that moment, someone had offered to lead me back to the route across the white plain near Shikh-Salah, would I have accepted? Hardly.
I tried to feel ashamed of my curiosity. I thought of Maillefeu.
"He, too, followed this corridor. And now he is down there, in the red marble hall."
I had no time to linger over this reminiscence. I was suddenly bowled over, thrown to the ground, as if by a sort of meteor. The corridor was dark; I could see nothing. I heard only a mocking growl.