Then:
"Mr. King he releasing you for to-night," announced the silver bell
voice.
The light went out.
Soames uttered a groan of terror, followed by a short, bubbling laugh,
but was seized firmly by the arm and led on into the blackness--on
through the solid, book-laden walls, presumably; and on--on--on, along
those interminable passages by which he had come. Here the air was
cooler, and the odor of roses no longer perceptible, no longer stifling
him, no longer assailing his nostrils, not as an odor of sweetness, but
as a perfume utterly damnable and unholy.
With his knees trembling at every step, he marched on, firmly supported
by his unseen companion.
"Stop!" directed a metallic, guttural voice.
Soames pulled up, and leaned weakly against the wall. He heard the clap
of hands close behind him; and a door opened within twelve inches of the
spot whereat he stood.
He tottered out into the matting-lined corridor from which he had
started upon that nightmare journey; Ho-Pin appeared at his elbow, but
no door appeared behind Ho-Pin!
"This is your wroom," said the Chinaman, revealing his yellow teeth in a
mirthless smile.
He walked across the corridor, threw open a door--a real, palpable
door... and there was Soames' little white room!
Soames staggered across, for it seemed a veritable haven of
refuge--entered, and dropped upon the bed.
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