The Black Mask — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

— x 56 More Deadly than the Viper others, the latter number wearing mitre-shaped hats. “His pains have caused him to swoon,” reported one of the Lamas, having bent over Tremaine. “Look ye, his camel lies yonder.” .. After a moment of whispered con- sultation the four Lamas lifted Tre- maine and carried him inside the monastery. Following the harsh clang of the closing portal, he was borne some distance—up flights of stairs and through dark, incense- laden corridors—and at length placed upon something cold and hard, a kang, he imagined. Three of the Lamas retreated, leav- ing. the fourth, the one with the ‘scarf, to light a candle and examine the American; and during this per- formance it required great control on the part of Tremaine, for a single twitch of a muscle might have betrayed him. Presently one of the monks re- turned bearing ointment, a cloth and a bowl of water. The latter he passed to the other Lama and whilst the priest of the white scarve held the receptacle he bathed and dressed the cut in Tre- maine’s arm. ‘When this was done they departed in silence, taking the candle and clos- ing the door easily behind them, Tremaine opened wide his eyes. Instead of the darkness that he ex- pected as the natural result of the withdrawal of the light, a long iron- barred window allowed the stream of moonlight to crust the floor beneath the casement with pearl and bring into vague outline the walls and ceiling of a small cell-like room. There was no furniture other than the kang upon which he lay. A raw chill pervaded the atmos- phere, making him shiver and shake. Too, the ordeal through which he had just passed had left him with a feel- ing of physical weakness. He won- dered if he would ever forget the piteous whine of the camel,... A shudder swept him. Rising from the stone bed, he crept to the door, his hand closing over the | knob. To his surprise the door was not bolted, but swung inward with a mild whine of hinges, disclosing a gloom-strictured corridor. As he started to step over the threshold his ears caught a faint pat- pat-pat—a sound that suggested the padded footfalls of a feline animal— coming from somewhere in the dark passage. He drew back into the room, hesi- tated; closed the door and returned to the kang. He had scarcely stretched himself out upon the cold stone when from beneath lowered lids he saw the door open slowly—saw a misty figure take birth in the maw of darkness. His sensation, as the person entered, was not unlike an electric shock, for, he ‘perceived, it was a woman. She wore something that corus- cated in the moonlight and her hair, the shade of a Tibetian night, was unbound in a black flood about her shoulders. And the face! In the moonlight it was clear-cut, like a piece of marble—an alluring mani- festation of a hundred voices, a face more wickedly lovely than any he had ever beheld. The lips were full, smears of dark in the wan light, and flames of jet burned in the heavy- lidded eyes. She moved across the crusting of pearly light, her garments shimmer- ing sinisterly, and bent over him, her body radiating a warmth that was ~s sweet, like bruised sandalwood. Ss She laughed, the musical peals suggesting shattered crystals. “My white mummy!” he heard her murmur in the Sartang Mongol dia- - = lic books. com)