"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.
The white Targa had flattened himself back against the wall.
"Good," I mumbled, picking myself up, "the deviltries are beginning."
We continued on our way. A glow different from that of the rose night
lights soon began to light up the corridor.
We reached a high bronze door, in which a strange lacy design had
been cut in filigree. A clear gong sounded, and the double doors
opened part way. The Targa remained in the corridor, closing the doors
after me.
I took a few steps forward mechanically, then paused, rooted to the
spot, and rubbed my eyes.