“What man?”
“My ‘levitating’ friend, as you call him.”
“No, George! Never!”
But it was though. Didn’t you see his face? It was uncovered—half yellow, half black.”
“The sun must have been in my eyes or yours. I saw nothing of the sort; but to tell the truth I didn’t see his face plainly. Just as I caught a glimpse of it, presto, it was gone.”
Strange sensations seized me. I trembled, though I knew not why.
“If it is actually your Panompin friend, George, by all means let us go up and interview him,” said Maurice lightly. “His song, though a trifle high flown, was not so bad. Do you know I like that idea of sun worship. God is omnipotent, omnipresent, but invisible. He made the earth, but the sun was his master mechanic. By all means let us be sun worshipers, old fellow, but for heaven’s sake, don’t drag me into any discussion with your friend upstairs. Such thoughts as I unfolded to you a few moments ago belong to certain frames of mind in which I seldom indulge. If you transgress, don’t be surprised to find me roughly repudiating all I said. I’m in no mood to argue with a Buddhist adept to-day.”
“My lips are sealed,” I replied, “but first we have to ‘catch our hare,’ who knows that we may not find that my singular friend has levitated to parts unknown. Then the laugh will be on your side, and that’s a fact.”
“We’ll see! We’ll see!” exclaimed Maurice, pushing on ahead of me. “If he is still there I’m as eager to interview him as you can be, for—hark! He is there!”
It was true.
We had reached the level of the next platform now, and there, leaning against a sculptured column with arms folded across his breast, stood the object of our thoughts.
Involuntarily we paused and peered out through the doorway communicating with the platform.
As he stood gazing in deep meditation off upon the dense forest there was something grand and majestic in his very attitude.
To Maurice the sight of that face must have been a marvel; to me it now seemed so much a part of the man that I could no longer regard it as hideous, nor even strange.
“What’s his name?” breathed Maurice in my ear. “You want to introduce a fellow, you know.”
I made no answer, for that same cold shudder had come over me again. What could it mean? Could it be that I, the confirmed agnostic was wavering in my agnosticism? For I found myself wondering if I was about to address a being from another and unseen world.
Determined to divest myself of all such nonsense, I now strode forward with outstretched hand.
“Good morning!” I said boldly. “It strikes me we have had the pleasure of meeting before.”
He did not at first change his position—simply turned and surveyed me calmly. Then unfolding his arms he extended his hand and grasped mine just as I was about to withdraw it, pressing it in that hearty fashion that I have always made a point to adopt myself.
“Ah! my Panompin friend!” he exclaimed. “Positively this is a surprise and a pleasant one. How came you here?”
It struck me very forcibly that mine was the right to ask that question, but I concealed my thoughts, and explained briefly the object of my visit to Angkor.
“It is a wonderful place,” he replied. “Few are aware of its existence and fewer still appreciate its beauties. But your friend here—introduce me please. By the way, our last interview was interrupted so abruptly that I had no opportunity to learn your name.”
My eye was full upon him when he made that allusion to our adventure in the alley, but he showed by no outward sign that he did not consider his strange departure the most natural thing in the world.
“I am George Wylde,” I replied, “and this is Mr. Maurice De Veber, American Consul at Panompin, to whose residence we were on our way when—when——”
“When I was forced to bid you farewell in a most summary manner,” he interrupted with perfect coolness. “Mr. Wylde, I am most happy to meet you again. Mr. De Veber, I trust that you are enjoying life in Cambodia. You are both Americans, I presume.”
“We are—and New Yorkers.”
“A fine city. Greatly improved of late I am told. It is some years since my last visit there. You Americans are an enterprising, practical people, but——”
“But what?”
“I was about to add that like all children you possess a somewhat exaggerated idea of your own intelligence,” he answered, smilingly, “but I had no intention of giving offense—let it pass.”
“You are quite right there, according to my friend’s views,” I laughed; “but pardon me, so far our introduction has been somewhat one-sided. May I ask your name?”
“My name! Well, strictly speaking, I have four names. Two are unpronouncable for you Americans. In Calcutta I am known as Mr. Mirrikh, and that must answer here.”
As he spoke he thrust his hand into one of the inner pockets of his coat, and producing a strip of black silk proceeded to adjust it about the lower part of his face.
He made neither explanation nor the least allusion to this act, and when the silk was in position, stood before us as calmly as ever, evidently waiting for me to speak.
It was Maurice, however, who began.
“You speak of Calcutta; are you a Hindoo, Mr. Mirrikh?”
“No, sir.”
“Pardon me. You can scarcely be a Cambodian or Siamese. Persian, perhaps?”
“Neither one nor the other, sir. We will let that matter pass.”
Maurice turned slightly red. The dear fellow never could endure rebuff.
“Do you smoke?” he asked, producing his cigar case.
“Seldom, and I do not care to smoke now. Pardon me, Mr. De Veber, if I have given offense. I can assure you——”
“In refusing my vile cheroots, sir? Indeed no.”
“No, no; not that. In declining to disclose my nationality. Believe me the best of reasons exist why I should keep my secret. To all intents and purposes I am a citizen of Benares. I have resided there ‘off and on,’ as you Americans say, for some years.”
“No explanation is necessary, sir,” replied Maurice, lightly. “My question was an impertinent one, but you know I must maintain my reputation for Yankee curiosity. But to change the subject; when did you arrive at Angkor? We have been here four days and, but for the priests, thought we had the ruins to ourselves.”
“I arrived this morning, Mr. De Veber,” he answered, the curious shadow which passed over his face telling me that Maurice was treading on dangerous ground again.
“This morning! Why there was no party in this morning before we left. You could hardly have come up the lake, for I am expecting some one on the next boat due. Possibly you came over from Siamrap?”
“Mr. De Veber, I came from a different direction entirely.”
“Indeed! May I ask from where?”
“Yankee curiosity again?” he laughed. “Really it is too bad, but I am forced to disappoint you. My movements cannot possibly concern you. I prefer not to tell from which direction I came.”
It was too much for Maurice.
Biting his lip he moved toward the balustrade and remained looking down upon the temple roof below.
Scarcely