The cold-blooded wickedness and cruelty underlying the man’s whole attitude made my gorge rise, and it was all I could do to keep from taking him by the throat and squeezing the life out of him. But there was too much at stake for any such move as yet, and I simply nodded. “How delightful!”
Ivanovitch turned away with a little smile and pressed a button on the wall. A door opened at once and a young Chinese boy entered and bowed. “This gentleman will go to the banquet,” said Ivanovitch. “Take him to his apartment and assist him to dress.”
Then he turned to me. “Well, farewell for the present, Mr. Clayton,” he said. “Enjoy yourself. But then, I am sure you are doing that already!” And with this parting shot he waved his hand, opened another door and disappeared.
I turned and stared at the young Chinaman. “You please to stlep this way, sar?” he inquired at once, moving toward the door through which he had come.
Now mostly all Chinamen look alike to me. But this boy’s face seemed vaguely familiar. I looked him over closely, and suddenly I recalled the evening after my visit to the Chief and a little dinner in a Chinese restaurant on 39th Street with Moore. Either this was the boy who had served us that night, or Chinamen were more alike even than I had supposed. Had they been watching us, then, from the very first?
For a moment a sense of complete helplessness swept over me. What was the use of fighting against such an organization? Then I shook it off savagely and nodded to the Chinese boy to proceed.
He led me through a short corridor, decorated in the same blue and gold. We came out into a huge hall, vaulted, beautifully carpeted and lined with life-sized and beautiful, if somewhat daring, paintings. There were handsome lounges and chairs also, and a big oak refectory table in the middle. The vaulted ceiling was a mass of delicately carved and intricate woodwork. The effect was bizarre and sensuous to a degree.
Between the paintings on the walls there were many doors. My guide made for one of these and threw it open with a bow. “Your room, sar. Please to enter.”
I stood still for a moment, conscious of a rustle and murmur of voices all around me, although the hall itself was deserted. Then I preceded the Chinese boy into a small bedroom, delicately and quite tastefully furnished. But here, too, gorgeous hangings which covered the walls and a huge divan with a multitude of rich cushions created an atmosphere both sensuous and languorous. The effect was as clever as it was difficult to define.
Laid out on the bed was a sort of costume, but before I could look at it, the boy opened another door leading out of my room into a tiled room with a sunken bath. “When you have bathed, sar, I will help you to dless,” he said woodenly.