Suddenly he perceived a pair of glossy black boots.  Their wearer was evidently standing quite near the screen, possibly listening.  Harley had an idea that some second person stood immediately behind the first.  Of this idea he presently had confirmation.  He was gripping the stem of his pipe very tightly and any one who could have seen him sitting there must have perceived that although his face wore an unusual pallor, he was composed and entirely master of himself.

A voice uttered his name: 

“Mr. Paul Harley.”

He could not be sure, but he thought it was the voice of Ormuz Khan’s secretary.  He drew his pipe from between his teeth, and: 

“Yes, what do you want with me?” he asked.

“Your attention, Mr. Harley, for a few moments, if you feel sufficiently recovered.”

“Pray proceed,” said Harley.

Of the presence of a second person beyond the screen he was now assured, for he had detected the sound of whispered instructions; and sinking lower and lower upon the divan, he peered surreptitiously under the border of the curtain, believing it to be more than probable that his movements were watched.

This led to a notable discovery.  A pair of gray suede shoes became visible a few inches behind the glossy black boots—­curiously small shoes with unusually high heels.  The identity of their wearer was beyond dispute to the man who had measured that delicate foot.

Ormuz Khan stood behind the screen!

CHAPTER XXV.  AN ENGLISHMAN’S HONOUR

“You have been guilty of a series of unfortunate mistakes, Mr. Harley,” continued the speaker.  “Notably, you have relied upon the clumsy device of disguise.  To the organization in which you have chosen to interest yourself, this has provided some mild amusement.  Your pedlar of almanacs was a clever impersonation, but fortunately your appearance at the Savoy had been anticipated, and no one was deceived.”

Paul Harley did not reply.  He concluded, quite correctly, that the organization had failed to detect himself in the person of the nervous cobbler.  He drew courage from this deduction.  Fire-Tongue was not omniscient.

“It is possible,” continued the unseen speaker, in whom Harley had now definitely recognized Ormuz Khan’s secretary, “that you recently overheard a resolution respecting yourself.  Your death, in fact, had been determined upon.  Life and death being synonymous, the philosopher contemplates either with equanimity.”

“I am contemplating the latter with equanimity at the moment,” said Harley, dryly.

“The brave man does so,” the Hindu continued, smoothly.  “The world only seems to grow older; its youth is really eternal, but as age succeeds age, new creeds must take the place of the old ones which are burned out.  Fire, Mr. Harley, sweeps everything from its path irresistibly.  You have dared to stand in the path of a fiery dawn; therefore, like all specks of dust which clog the wheels of progress, you must be brushed aside.”