This was another moonless night, with Orion glorious in the East, and
the Great Bear blazing on the northern horizon, as the headlights of
the high-powered Daimler car, driven by the Italian chauffeur,
flashed on a high, wide _porte cochère_ of white-painted wrought
iron, and the horn sounded a well-known call.
The massive gates were opened and shut by a hand-worked windlass,
over which ran an endless chain. Two white-clad negro porters worked
the winch, the gate slid smoothly back in its groovings. The car
rolled in, and the gate was shut as it passed up the avenue.
The Arabian-Turkish palace seemed to sleep under the starshine of the
November night, wrapped in its royal mantle of roses and
bougainvillea. Heavy drifts of perfume were carried on the languid
air-waves that came from the south-west at intervals, swaying
thick-foliaged branches and sighing amongst the leaves. Not a
blue-white gleam of electric light or even the flame of a candle
twinkled through the pierced lattices, as Katharine, alighting from
the car, observed with some surprise.
The wide-leaved doors of the house stood open. On the steps and in
the vestibule were drawn up a double row of native servants; lean,
dark Mohammedans in high starched turbans, _kaftans_ and baggy
trousers of snowy muslin, displaying gorgeously gold-embroidered
vests.
One elderly man stepped forward, salaaming low to the visitor, with
the words:
"O lady, God give thee a happy night! His Presence awaits thee."
"Carry thy lord salutations from me," Katharine answered in her
laboured Arabic. "Say that--that I have come in answer to the
message. Is the Saiyid Hazel here in the house?"
The elderly man salaamed again and answered smoothly:
"Surely, O lady, the desire of thine eyes and thine heart shall be
granted! With your coming a blessing hath entered these doors...."
The Italian chauffeur now appeared behind Katharine, carrying the
suit-case. A servant stepped forward and took it, as Miss Forbis
said to the chauffeur in French:
"I don't yet know whether I shall need that case. Leave it in the
car, please, and let the car be waiting. I may return to Alexandria
to-night."
"But, Mademoiselle!--" the Italian began, when a look from Nasr Ullah
silenced him. He saluted, and muttering: "As Mademoiselle commands!"
turned and went out and down the steps. But he left the suit-case in
the servant's hands--and the hall-doors were shut and locked after
him. And the fragrance of the jasmine and roses of the garden gave
place to another perfume, heavy too, but sickly-sweet with sandal and
henna, the fumes of burning pastilles, and all the strange suggestive
odours of a shut-up Eastern house. And glancing at the now barred
doors and the double row of gleaming eyes, and imperturbable dark
faces, Katharine Forbis felt a little, chilly shudder creep over her
and stir amongst the roots of her plentiful dark hair.
"A goose walked over my grave, then," she told herself, smiling
bravely, fighting back the sinister sensation, as the elderly
major-domo addressed her again:
"With permission, a message for the lady, from the Presence. The
Presence took food, as is his wont, a little after sunset. It is now
the fifth hour, and supper has been spread, Ifrangi-fashion, in
readiness for the lady's coming. If the lady will deign to take of
it, I pray her follow me...."
"Thank you, but I need nothing," Katharine answered, as the man
prepared to lead the way down an interminable-appearing hall.
"And--I prefer to stay where I am." She moved to a carved ebony
seat, and spoke to the man again, this time in English. "Please ask
Essenian Pasha and Mr. Hazel to come to me here. Unless--" She
started as the thought occurred to her, and ended: "Unless they
should happen to be engaged with--some one who is ill...."
"_Aiyân_...." The dark eyes under the much-ridged forehead were
wonderfully observant. The nasal voice belonging to the eyes spoke
in the English tongue: "Surely there is one here who is ill
exceedingly. The Presence and the Saiyid Hazel have many fears for
him," Nasr Ullah added as the colour ebbed from Katharine's cheeks
and lips and her hand clenched involuntarily, "but by the Favour of
Allah--he is not like to die...."
"Take me to him.... Now, please! ..."
Miss Forbis rose up, tall and impetuous, motioning to Nasr Ullah to
lead the way, scattering her scruples and her fears to the winds like
withered leaves. Which of her beloved Two lay in some darkened room
of this strange house? Julian or Edward? Edward or Julian. Well,
in another minute she would know....
It occupied several minutes. The elderly Mohammedan produced an
electric torch, and by its radiance led her through a vast suite of
apartments on the ground-floor, their Arabesque Ottoman elegance
grotesquely overlaid with fashions imported from the West. A curious
jumble of furniture of many different styles and periods was revealed
by the blue-white torch-flare--overcrowding the wide and lofty rooms.
French Directoire and the First Empire shouldered the Georgian
Regency, Early Victorian tables and Berlin wool-work settees were
reflected in splendid Venetian mirrors, and electric bulbs depended
from cut-glass chandeliers. Later Rococo--overlaid with Art Nouveau
and camouflaged with Futurism; Cubist pictures, Cubist draperies and
cushions of Cubist designs, gibbered mockingly in Katharine's face as
the electric torch led the way.... And the stuffiness bred of
Eastern neglect hung heavy on the atmosphere, and dust rose in
wreaths from the velvety carpets under the lightest tread.
The last door of the last suite led into a wide corridor paved with
black and white marble. Midway down, the elderly servant stopped at
the grille of a lift and switched on the electric light. He snapped
off his torch, pushed back the sliding-door, followed Miss Forbis in,
shut the grille and started the elevator--a costly thing in nickel
and enamelled iron--conveying to Katharine the momentary impression
that she was calling on a London friend in a Sloane Street or Mayfair
flat.
The lift stopped at the top floor after traversing three storeys.
The Mohammedan showed Miss Forbis out, and opened a latticed door at
the end of a short passage. She drew a breath of relief as the
night-air flowed about her, and the rose-scents of the dew-drenched
garden rose up in delicious clouds.
She was passing over a slender bridge, connecting the roof of one of
the wings of the Pasha's showy villa with that of another building,
evidently much older, distant perhaps some forty feet from the ornate
marble palace, and covering a considerable area of ground in its
rear. Built in the old windowless Arabian way about an oblong
courtyard, and crowned by an open court or pavilion of green and
white marble, its outer walls were pressed upon by closely thronging
trees. Casuarinas and moss-cup oaks, peppers and tamarisks and tall
waving palms made coolth and greenness round it, and nightingales
were singing from the trees that girt it round.
The bridge, of latticed iron, painted to dazzling whiteness, ended
under a pointed trefoil arch where heavy curtains hung. The
Mohammedan servant who showed the way was beckoning to
Katharine--lifting a gleaming, gold-embroidered fold, signing to her
to pass. She drew in a deep breath of fragrance from the garden, and
the song of the bulbuls rose in a crescendo of sweetness as she
glanced at the starry sky. Then the dark hand signed to her--she
passed under the archway, and the curtain fell behind her with a
soft, thudding sound.
She stood on the threshold of an oblong room, or rather, court, of
pierced and latticed marble, covered and adorned with mosaic, running
nearly the whole length of a side of the Arab house. Open to the sky
overhead, and enclosed by curtains of thick gold-embroidered silk,
hanging under trefoil arches between groups of slender pillars, it
had a long divan of dark, rich brocade running along one side. Two
silver lamps of antique design, swinging by chains from slender rods,
mingled their mellow radiance with the starlight. At the farther
end, closed curtains under a higher arch showed the entrance to
another court--or possibly an enclosed apartment--beyond the pavilion
that was canopied with the sky.
The floor was of ancient Arab tiles, wonderful in colour. Rare and
beautiful prayer-rugs were laid on it here and there. A pedestal of
serpentine supported a great porcelain bowl in which a little
fountain played, and goldfish were swimming. Clusters of lilies of
Amaryllis type, thick-stemmed, fleshy, purple and white and crimson,
exhaling a heavy, languorous fragrance, stood in jars of ancient
_cloisonné_ upon inlaid ivory stools. In the centre of the room
stood a broad divan, piled with great embroidered cushions. Beside
the divan was a tripod of ebony, supporting something that looked
like a green velvet jewel-case....
A slight man in Eastern dress, his black _tarbûsh_ turbaned with
snowy muslin folds, his long-sleeved _kaftan_ of orange-red opening
to reveal a longer-sleeved garment of white, a jewelled pen-case
glittering in the folds of his green silk girdle, rose up from the
divan as the curtain fell--and advanced to Katharine....
"Dear lady, my poor house is highly honoured--" he began:
"Is Mr. Hazel here, Major Essenian?"
In her surprise at finding the Pasha alone, Katharine's hurried query
broke in upon the Pasha's formal welcome, scattering his elaborate
sentences to the winds.
"Mr. Hazel--" He affected for a moment to search his memory. "Dear
lady, I am sorry, but--" His shrug said "No! ..."
"Then why did your chauffeur bring me the letter from him?" Katharine
demanded, looking down from her superb height upon the suave and
smiling face.
"From Mr. Hazel?" Essenian asked with maddening blandness. "Did he
bring you a letter? ..."
"You know he did! ..."
"Ah yes, of course, I know!" admitted Essenian, his long eyes
narrowing as they encountered Katharine's. She mastered her anger,
knowing its display incautious, and said with rather a poor attempt
to smile:
"You must make allowances, Pasha, if I seem excited and nervy.
But--I have been on tenterhooks since the day we met. The
15th--and--isn't this the 18th of November? ..."
"Certainly, going by your Western calendar. But in this house that
lies hidden behind another that is full of barbarous Western
inventions--Western customs do not prevail, and Western fashions are
abhorred. You are in Egypt when you are here...."
"The room is perfectly beautiful. But I can't spare time to enjoy
it. I can think of nothing but the matter that brought me here
to-night. Last night, rather"--Katherine glanced at her
wrist-watch--"because it is getting perilously near one o'clock in
the morning. Once for all, I ask you where you got the letter that
your servant brought me at the Hospital, nearly five hours back? ..."
"It was placed in my hands by Hazel, to be delivered in case of
emergency."
Katharine's clear eyes questioned the dark face. Its narrow eyes met
hers, glittering imperturbably. She resumed, with a little sickening
thrill of hatred of the man:
"Then--the emergency has occurred? Be good enough to answer another
question. Did you take Mr. Hazel to Shechem, as he told me you had
arranged to do?"
"Certainly. We made the trip in record time." The long beryl eyes
shone green in the mingling of lamplight and starlight, the smooth
dark lips curved as Essenian smiled. "Following the old Pilgrim's
Route at first. Doing the journey--about 195 miles, as the crow
flies--in something under three-and-a-half-hours, and reaching
Shechem just before dawn."
"And--when you got there--what went wrong? For something has gone
wrong," Katharine said breathlessly--"I feel it in the air about me,
though your face tells no tales."
"'_The face that tells tales is a man's worst enemy. The face that
hides secrets is a man's best friend._'" Essenian quoted the stale
truism gently and suavely. "But will you not remove your outer wrap
and take a seat on the divan?"
He added, as Katharine unfastened a cloak she wore, an ample double
cape of Navy blue serge, lined with dark crimson silk, and dropped it
from her shoulders, and moving with her supple grace to the divan,
sat down:
"I returned here yesterday, arriving before sunrise. To remain in
Palestine would have been useless. To be candid--"
"Oh, my God!" said Katharine in her anguished soul. "Does this man
ever speak candidly?" But she looked at him and waited--summoning up
all her reserves of self-command and patience, seeming a calm-eyed,
superbly-moulded goddess, attired in a well-cut uniform of white
cotton-drill.
"I had arranged to return to Shechem," he went on, "before sunrise on
the 18th. There is still time to reach there while the day is yet
young. But something unfortunate happened just before the landing.
In fact, Mr. Hazel has had an accident--"
"An accident. Of what nature? ..."
Katharine's brows contracted and her colour faded. Essenian pursued
in his suavest tones:
"Let me explain. To repose a confidence in you, which I feel will
not be misplaced." Would the man never get to the point? "I
employed at Shechem, a device of my own invention--which has been
approved at Headquarters by my Chief. By a simple mechanical
appliance--merely a spring-switch and lock-clip--I can change the
number and colour-plates on the main-planes and tail of my machine.
You understand? The Red, White and Blue is replaced by the Red
Crescent. Imagine the advantage to the aviator of a simple device
like this!"
"But the type of your machine. You can't change that!" Katharine
spoke wearily.
"I cannot, naturally. But our captured 'planes are generally brought
into use. And--I do not remain sufficiently long over an enemy
stronghold to give time--" the speaker shrugged and ended--"for
exhaustive scrutiny. Let me be brief--"
"I beg that you will! ..."
He recognised in her voice an accent of entreaty. It was what he had
waited for.
"I dropped--in my strictly temporary role of Turkish aviator--a dummy
despatch-bag into Shechem. Then I flew north, to a patch of level
ground between Mount Ebal and Samata--where I had planned to drop my
man. As I passed south of Mount Ebal, I saw"--he was telling the
story plainly at last "there were enemy batteries upon it. Mountain
Artillery of the Mustahfiz--machine-guns--a howitzer--the Mount had
been converted into a fortress of defence! And, in my surprise at
the discovery, I acted without due caution--or rather, I acted as I
had arranged to act--without deviation from the first plan. I
climbed, dived, and came down west of the Mountain--giving Hazel the
agreed-on-word to jump, when I should touch the ground. But--as a
result of the surprise, I suppose--I gave it prematurely--"
"And Mr. Hazel jumped--before you touched the ground!" Her voice was
very stern and deep. Her wide gaze held him. "Answer my question
plainly. Has he been killed? ..."
"No. But he has sustained some hurt. I do not know its nature. My
military duty forbade me to remain."
"I--understand. You flew away, leaving your passenger in
difficulties! ..."
The deadly contempt of the tone bit like frost at 15,000 feet, the
splendid wrath of her cairngorm eyes told him that he, Essenian, was
a creature infinitely mean....
"I flew away. As you remark." The glittering eyes met hers at last,
and the lips smiled cruelly.... "What would you have?" He folded
his slender, dark hands within the shelter of his sleeves. "Can men
fight against Destiny?"
"Men can fight against the temptation to do base things, and
sometimes fight and conquer. And now--" Anger and grief were in her
tone, "what will become of him? ..."
"Of your friend? ..." He stood imperturbably facing her, his dark
hands hidden in the sleeves of his orange-crimson _kaftan_, and the
delicate mingling of golden lamplight and silvery starlight threw his
shadow over the rich, pale carpets, and the exquisite Arabesque
mosaics, of green and blue, and amber, that covered with their
tracery the exposed spaces of the floor. "How can I say what has or
will become of him! ... If you choose, it is for you to tell me...."
An almost insupportable sense of the speaker's insincerity went
through Katharine's being like flame, and the agony of suspense long
drawn-out, spurred her--as Essenian had calculated it would--to
reckless utterance....
"How can I tell you? You play with me, Major Essenian, knowing as
you must, that if I could find out what has happened to my--to my
friend and my brother I would do so at any sacrifice! ..."
"Then," said the Egyptian, gently and mellifluously, "place yourself
before the case that is on that tripod, open the case and look in the
spherical beryl it contains. I will not touch it lest you should
suspect me of some trickery. Indeed, I will remain at a distance
while you look.... All I ask is--that you will tell me truthfully
what you see--if Sight be vouchsafed to you! Judging by what I have
witnessed I believe you will be favoured. No sacrifice is needed....
You have only to look! ..."
He lowered his voice almost to a whisper, yet every word came to
Katharine's hearing with a distinctness that oppressed.
"After our meeting in Mr. Hazel's house at Alexandria, where I had
witnessed such a striking manifestation of his clairvoyant powers, he
dined with me at my Club, and after dinner--in my eagerness to pursue
further the investigations that absorb me--I persuaded Hazel to look
in the beryl that case contains. He passed with ease into the
condition inseparable from Vision--but to my questions I received no
satisfactory replies. Now that you are here," the voice was hurried,
"the hour and the conditions alike being favourable, stretch out your
hand, open the case and--look in the crystal ball!"
"Do you really think that I should see--things? Find out what is
happening to--friends at Shechem?"
Essenian's orange-red draperies rustled as he moved nearer, saying:
"I do not 'think.' ... I know that you would! ..."
Holding his breath, he saw her white figure shift its position on the
divan. Now her white hands hovered like wistful doves about the
velvet case on the tripod--now the moony brightness of the great
spherical beryl shone forth as though some lesser star of the
innumerable hosts of heaven had fallen upon the tripod in the Arabian
room.... Now he heard her say--speaking to herself rather than to
him--with a fluttered laugh of nervousness:
"You know, I won't have anything to do with this if it's dabbling in
magic. But--just to look in the beryl can't be much harm...."
"No, no! What harm could there be? But wonderful things are
seen--sometimes--by gifted people. And you--I would stake half that
I own on the certainty that you have the gift! ..."
He moved softly here and there in the background as Katharine,
absorbed, bent over the beryl. Now he loosened a silken cord, and
shades descended, covering the silver lamps. He moved his dark,
supple hands among little brazen vases of Benares-work ranged upon a
stand resembling a Hindu altar, and a slender column of incense,
heavy and fragrant, rose up and climbed, spiralling and twisting,
towards the great stars that looked down from Heaven's violet dome.
Presently he heard Katharine whisper to herself as a woman speaks in
dreaming:
"The Church forbids dabbling in spiritism and magic. But just--once
to look--can't be so very wrong! ..."
And now Essenian spoke, seizing the appropriate moment, almost as he
had spoken to Hazel at the Club:
"Wrong.... How should it be wrong? Do not touch the beryl--that is
imperative. Neither bend so close above it that your breathing dims
its light. Sit comfortably, rest your hands lightly on either side
of the tripod. You are not afraid? Why should you be? There is
absolutely no reason.... Only look steadily in the beryl, do not
remove your eyes...."
If Katharine had seen Essenian's, as they narrowly observed her, she
might have recalled a speech of Lady Wastwood's, made a few days
previously. For they indubitably resembled the eyes of a cobra, and
his soft noiseless movements were horribly tigerish. But she knew
nothing but the cold, gleaming sphere upon its little cup-shaped
metal pedestal--and the smooth twists and coiling folds, suggesting
veil upon veil of mystery--that were beginning to reveal themselves
beneath the pale-green, shining surface that at first had seemed
opaque. There was a singing in her ears, and she heard her heart
throbbing, but as though it were the heart of some one else beating a
long way off. Edward's? ... Julian's? ... Neither of these, she
thought.... The heart that called so far away was John Hazel's....
What was he doing? Where was he? What had happened to him?
Summoning all her strength, she willed herself to see....
"Oh, oh! Take it away! ... Hide it from me! ..."
Katharine was moaning, and begging not to see. And the Egyptian,
ashen of hue, dabbled with sweat, vibrating like a wind-blown
reed--was bending towards her, greedily drinking in the disconnected
utterances that broke from her--when she sighed deeply, lifted her
head, and fixed her eyes on him.
"Go on! Go on! Look back to the beryl!" He lifted his slender
clenched hand as though he would have struck her. "Do you want to
ruin all? Why do you stop? ..."
"Because it makes my eyes and my head ache so...." She opened and
shut her eyes once or twice, and rubbed her forehead with her
handkerchief. "And because what I saw was horrible--that was why I
stopped!"
"What did you see? ..."
"The inside of a wooden hut. Dirty and sordid--with no furniture in
it except a native bed. All seen as by daylight, through
high-powered binoculars. And--on the bed--chained to it--" She
shuddered--"Something shapeless--something bloody--something
terrible--that once may have been a man--"
"Was it your brother?"
"No, thank--"
"Hush! ..." He stopped her with an imperative gesture. "How do you
know that it was not Father Forbis? ..."
"Because Julian is very fair, with reddish hair and beard. The monks
of his Order wear the beard like the Franciscans."
"Was it John Hazel? Answer! ..."
"I dare not say! ..."
"You know it was!" He almost spat the words at her.
"Perhaps. Oh! what have they done to him? ..." Katharine's nerves
were thrilling--little intermittent shudders passed over her, cold
damps stood upon her skin, and her heart shook her as she sat. She
fought for composure, steadying her lips, drying her dewy temples
with her handkerchief, "I have seen things in War," she panted, "but
nothing worse than that! Pray order the car!--I must go back to
Alexandria." She repeated, thinking he did not hear her. "Have the
kindness to order the car! ..."
He had moved round in front of her, and stood regarding her with his
arms crossed upon his breast. Now he said in his velvet tones: "Not
until you have looked again in the beryl, Miss Forbis. And for
me--for me, this time!"
"You threaten to detain me here against my will? I should not advise
your trying it!" She rose up, dwarfing him by her superb stature,
adding as she lifted her mantle from the divan: "You do not suppose
that my friends at Montana are ignorant of my whereabouts? Besides,
your car was challenged at all the guarded barriers, and more than
once stopped upon the road here by patrols of Military Police. The
chauffeur supplied your number and name, and I naturally took care to
give my own, 'Sergeant-Motor-driver, K. Forbis, Number 61, --th Unit,
V.A. Department, Red Cross....' This is the Twentieth Century, Major
Essenian...."
"I threaten nothing. I suggest nothing," the supple hands were
extended towards her, palms uppermost, "I have no designs against
your honour. I am of those who see the grinning skull behind the
Face of Loveliness and the asp that conceals itself beneath the
blossom of the rose." He spoke rapidly, illustrating his sentences
with swift, expressive gestures: "I merely entreat of you, at this
juncture in my fortunes--a man beset with dangers from sources all
unknown!--look in the beryl! Ask of me what you choose--I am wealthy
enough to give it you!--but first look in the beryl, and will to see
my Fate."
"Very well." The womanliness inherent in Katharine stirred her, in
spite of her dislike, to pity the desperate anxiety patent in the
Egyptian's twitching face, and nervous, appealing hands. "But your
attempt at coercion was as misplaced as your suggestion of bribery.
You will not repeat either, if you are wise. Since you entreat it, I
consent to look once more in the beryl. But first--order the car...."
"I am your slave, and all I possess is at your service!" He took a
silver rod from a stand, and struck a small gong. It had a wonderful
resonance, and the sonorous note evoked, spread in waves increasing
in volume, until, the limit of its power reached, the sound ebbed
away.
"That was to summon the car. Now, look--" Essenian threw fresh
incense on the burning embers in the censer on the altar, muttering
an invocation in his own tongue: "O ye Influences, be propitious! O
Tarshun, O Taryushun! Come down! Come down! Remove the veil from
the woman's sight. Show her my Fate in the Eye of Radiance. Hear, O
Arhmân! Great Prince--thy servant calls! ..."
Bending over the beryl, resting her hands on the tripod, turning a
deaf ear to the inward voice that warned her not to look, Katharine
saw in the body of the stone, framed in silky, shining skeins of
semi-opaque lustre, a little oval vignette of her own face, crowned
by the slouched felt uniform hat, with its badge and ribbon banding,
backed by the purple splendour of the jewelled Eastern sky. She put
up a hand and removed her hat, and tossed it aside carelessly,
without removing her gaze from the sinister, gleaming sphere....
Then the pale face with the intent eyes faded from vision, a wider
space began to clear between the silky folds....
"Essenian Pasha--I will to see the Fate of Essenian!" she repeated
mentally, concentrating her powers. The will to see became intense.
She forgot her loathing of the man, muttering incoherent things,
shivering with suspense behind her: "I will to see! ... I will to
see!" she told herself over and over. And Seeing came as Katharine
framed the words, with dazzling, illuminating clearness. As
previously, she might have been looking through high-powered
binoculars.
She saw a whitewashed brick courtyard, clean and bare and sanded, in
early daylight, with blank brick walls on three sides, and plain
brick buildings on the fourth side, where two sentries with fixed
bayonets guarded a door. Drawn up in the courtyard in two lines, a
company of R.F.C. officers, N.C.O.'s and men, stood at attention.
The door opened, the sentries presented arms, and a Sergeant-Major
and party of Military Police, with fixed bayonets, led by an officer
wearing a Staff brassard, and followed by four other Police, carrying
a plain, wooden coffin--marched into the courtyard, escorting a
prisoner.
The prisoner was Essenian--in khaki as she had first seen him--save
that his multi-coloured rows of ribbons, and the badges on his
uniform, had been ruthlessly slashed away. The man himself was
altered, shrunken, aged beyond believing. His grey face with its
glittering eyes staring from caves that had been dug about them,
lifted as the Sergeant-Major touched his shoulder--took off his cork
helmet--bandaged his eyes carefully--opened his khaki tunic and hung
a white-painted metal disc immediately above his heart....
Now they were putting down the coffin before a blank wall. Now the
little shrunken figure stood against the wall in tragic solitude--the
Sergeant-Major was placing seven men in line confronting it, taking
their rifles from them, and showing them, one at a time to the
officer with the Staff brassard....
"_Ready...! Present....!_"
The rifles had been given back, and seven muzzles steadily pointed at
the white disc hanging on the doomed man's breast. In another
second--sharp stabs of greenish flame leaped beyond the shining
bayonets, light puffs of brownish smoke rose against the dazzling
blue sky seen above the wall....
The shrunken body lay huddled up, in an odd unnatural attitude, in a
dark red puddle that soaked away in the sand. The officer with the
Staff brassard approached it, drawing his revolver.... He stooped
down, straightened himself, glanced back at the Sergeant, and
slipping the revolver back into its holster, gave an order, wheeled
sharply and walked away. And as he did this the whole scene blurred
and vanished. With a slight, sharp sound like the snapping of a
crystal rod, a jagged fracture showed down the middle of the Eye of
Radiance. The Beryl had become opaque as a lump of volcanic glass.