The Black Mask — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

* More Deadly than the Viper 51 out waves of scented heat and a candle on an ebony table burned like a trembling ruby. A moment after the sound of the gong a little Chinese girl clad in green silk slipped through a door, taking Tremaine’s coat and hat. Then she melted into the amethyst shadows. ““Won’t—won’t you sit down?” the girl faltered. Her face seemed suddenly swept free of all color; the eyes of night-blue swam star-like in a mist of tears. “You are ill!” he exclaimed, mov- ing to her side. At his words she sank on the cara- van-cloth cushions of the divan, her eyes dropping to the Khotan rug at her feet. "Yes, ill in murmur. For a moment she was silent, then lifted her eyes to him and spoke: “You must overlook my queer ac- tions, for you don’t know what I’ve suffered, here in this terrible village —in the solitude, with only Lotus- eye and Yashka as companions... . It has seemed a million hours .. .” “But the Consul?” he queried, puzzled, “Surely—” She made a gesture that expressed absolute futility. “Gone—his secretary gone, and my brother, too—all three in the last forty days. . . .” “Forty days,” he echoed; “you've been in this God-forsaken place for | ~ forty days?” A shudder swept her. “Forty days —and the only white woman... living in a house with three drink- crazed men, two Cossacks and a Chi- nese girl. Ah, God, if you only knew!” Very gently, with a tenderness that came to him suddenly, he took soul,” he heard her her small hands in his, looking deep into the eyes of night-blue. “But I want to know, Miriam Am- ber,” he said. She summoned a smile. “The way you said that sounded like home. I live in Richmond, Virginia.” He, too, smiled. “Richmond,” he repeated. “I live in Fredericksburg, so near you—yet—we came to Tibet to meet. Strange these tricks that Chance plays—or is it Chance? . But you are in trouble and I want to hear about it,” Once more she smiled. “Sit down. Dll tell you over the tea-table ., .” Again the silvern gong—again the green-clad Lotus-eye, this time bear- ing a tray which she placed on the little ebony table and retreated. “T sent for you to ask you to help me,” announced Miriam Amber after they were seated. “When you rode in this afternoon I felt that aid had come, and I resolved to send for you, knowing that you could suggest some plan. Now, that you’re here, I hard- ly know where to begin— She poured his tea for him and passed it to him. He accepted it awkwardly, but she seemed not to notice this. “My brother was a writer,” she began. “We left the United States a year ago to travel in the East, After Egypt we visited the Holy Lands, went from Damascus through Per- sia; across Turkestan and ancient Dsungaria into Tibet. We were to end up in China—Pekin, Hongkong —and then home. ... My brother had an unfortunate habit—that of drinking—and after we left Damas- cus a new passion for it seized him and he drank all he could obtain—” Clouds settled in her eyes, dim- ming the night-blue. “The incidents of our journey in Tibet would make up a book of hard-