The Slayer of Souls | Page 6

her shroud. She

has admitted that she desires to live. Therein lies her pledge to us."
"And she placed a yellow snake at your feet!" sneered Gutchlug.
"Prince Sanang, tell me, what man or what devil in all the chronicles of
the past has ever tamed a Snow-Leopard?" And he continued to hone
his yataghan.
"Gutchlug--"
"No, she dies," said the other tranquilly.
"Not yet!"
"When, then?"
"Gutchlug, thou knowest me. Hear my pledge! At her first gesture
toward treachery--her first thought of betrayal--I myself will end it all."
"You promise to slay this young snow-leopardess?"
"By the four companions, I swear to kill her with my own hands!"
Gutchlug sneered. "Kill her--yes--with the kiss that has burned thy lips
to ashes for all these months. I know thee, Sanang. Leave her to me.
Dead she will no longer trouble thee."
"Gutchlug!"
"I hear, Prince Sanang."
"Strike when I nod. Not until then."
"I hear, Tougtchi. I understand thee, my Banneret. I whet my knife.
Kai!"
Sanang looked at him, put on his top-hat and overcoat, pulled on a pair
of white evening gloves.
"I go forth," he said more pleasantly.

"I remain here to talk to my seven ancestors and sharpen my knife,"
remarked Gutchlug.
"When the white world and the yellow world and the brown world and
the black world finally fall before the Hassanis," said Sanang with a
quick smile, "I shall bring thee to her. Gutchlug--once--before she is
veiled, thou shalt behold what is lovelier than Eve."
The other stolidly whetted his knife.
Sanang pulled out a gold cigarette case, lighted a cigarette with an air.
"I go among the Germans," he volunteered amiably. "The huns swam
across two oceans, but, like the unclean swine, it is their own throats
they cut when they swim! Well, there is only one God. And not very
many angels. Erlik is greater. And there are many million devils to do
his bidding. Adieu. There is rice and there is koumiss in the frozen
closet. When I return you shall have been asleep for hours."
When Sanang left the hotel one of the two young men seated in the
hotel lobby got up and strolled out after him.
A few minutes later the other man went to the elevator, ascended to the
fourth floor, and entered an apartment next to the one occupied by
Sanang.
There was another man there, lying on the lounge and smoking a cigar.
Without a word, they both went leisurely about the matter of disrobing
for the night.
When the shorter man who had been in the apartment when the other
entered, and who was dark and curly-headed, had attired himself in
pyjamas, he sat down on one of the twin beds to enjoy his cigar to the
bitter end.
"Has Sanang gone out?" he inquired in a low voice.
"Yes. Benton went after him."

The other man nodded. "Cleves," he said, "I guess it looks as though
this Norne girl is in it, too."
"What happened?"
"As soon as she arrived, Sanang made straight for her apartment. He
remained inside for half an hour. Then he came out in a hurry and went
to his own rooms, where that surly servant of his squats all day, shining
up his arsenal, and drinking koumiss."
"Did you get their conversation?"
"I've got a record of the gibberish. It requires an interpreter, of course."
"I suppose so. I'll take the records east with me to-morrow, and by the
same token I'd better notify New York that I'm leaving."
He went, half-undressed, to the telephone, got the telegraph office, and
sent the following message:
"RECKLOW,New York :
"Leaving to-morrow for N.Y. with samples. Retain expert in Oriental
fabrics.
"VICTOR CLEVES."
"Report for me, too," said the dark young man, who was still enjoying
his cigar on his pillows.
So Cleves send another telegram, directed also to
"RECKLOW,New York :
"Benton and I are watching the market. Chinese importations fluctuate.
Recent consignment per Nan-yang Maru will be carefully inspected and
details forwarded.
"ALEK SELDEN."

In the next room Gutchlug could hear the voice of Cleves at the
telephone, but he merely shrugged his heavy shoulders in contempt.
For he had other things to do besides eavesdropping.
Also, for the last hour--in fact, ever since Sanang's
departure--something had been happening to him--something that
happens to a Hassani only once in a lifetime. And now this unique
thing had happened to him--to him, Gutchlug Khan--to him before
whose Khiounnou ancestors eight-one thousand nations had bowed the
knee.
It had come to his at last, this dread thing, unheralded, totally
unexpected, a few minutes after Sanang had departed.
And he suddenly knew he was going to die.
And, when, presently, he comprehended it, he bent his grizzled head
and listened seriously. And, after a little silence,