And Bell suddenly looked down at them, and his expression was that of a man who sees cobras at the ends of his arms.
CHAPTER XVII
here was a long pause. Bell was very calm. He seemed to tear his eyes from the writhing hands that were peculiarly sensate, as if under the control of in intelligence alien to his own.
"I believe," said Bell steadily, "that The Master wishes to speak to me."
With an apparent tremendous effort of will, he thrust his hands into his pockets. Jamison cursed softly. Bell had taken the direction of things entirely out of his hands. It only remained to play up.
"To be sure," said a mild, benevolent voice. The man with the snowy beard regarded Bell exactly in the fashion of an elderly philanthropist. "I am The Master, Senor Bell. You have interested me greatly. I have grown to have a great admiration for you. Will you be seated? Your companion also pleases me. I would like"—and the mild brown eyes beamed at him—"I would like to have your friendship, Senor Bell."
"Pull out a chair for me, Jamison," said Bell in a strained voice. "And—I'd like to have a cigarette."
Jamison, cursing under his breath, put a chair behind Bell and stuck a cigarette between his lips. He held a match, though his hands shook.
"You might sit down, too," said Bell steadily. "From the manner of The Master, I imagine that the conversation will take some time."