But, dominating the strange place, in the center
of the floor stood an ivory pedestal, supporting a golden dragon of
exquisite workmanship; and before it, as before a shrine, an enormous
Chinese vase was placed, of the hue, at its base, of deepest violet,
fading, upward, through all the shades of rose pink seen in an Egyptian
sunset, to a tint more elusive than a maiden's blush. It contained a
mass of exotic poppies of every shade conceivable, from purple so dark
as to seem black, to poppies of the whiteness of snow.
Just within the door, and immediately in front of Soames, stood a slim
man of about his own height, dressed with great nicety in a perfectly
fitting morning-coat, his well-cut cashmere trousers falling accurately
over glossy boots having gray suede uppers. His linen was immaculate,
and he wore a fine pearl in his black poplin cravat. Between two yellow
fingers smoldered a cigarette.
Soames, unconsciously, clenched his fists: this slim man embodied the
very spirit of the outre. The fantastic surroundings melted from the
ken of Soames, and he seemed to stand in a shadow-world, alone with an
incarnate shadow.
For this was a Chinaman! His jet black lusterless hair was not shaven in
the national manner, but worn long, and brushed back from his slanting
brow with no parting, so that it fell about his white collar behind,
lankly.
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