For just an instant on the staircase, Bedient stood among the punkah-blown palms to scan the faces below.  Framtree was not there, but Miss Mallory appeared in a discussion with an elderly gentleman, and her usual animation was apparent.  Bedient was struck with the fact that he had been singularly remiss.  In the thirty hours which had passed since their parting, her likeness had not once entered his mind, and he had offered to see that she was comfortably ensconced.  Her eyes turned to him now, but as quickly turned away.  He had tried to bow....  And at this moment, Bedient perceived the languid eye of the man at the desk, cooling itself upon him.  Crossing the tiles from the stairs toward this gentleman, moreover, he was covered with glances from the guests, eyes of swift, searching intensity.  “How interested they are in a stranger,” he thought.  There was a sharpness of needles and acid in the air.

Low chimes from an indefinite source now struck the hour of eight.  A Chinese stepped up to the desk beside Bedient.

“You are dining with Senor Rey?” the manager inquired lazily.

Bedient nodded, and turned to greet Miss Mallory.  She caught his eye and intent, and promptly turned her back.  For the first time, Bedient felt himself a little inadequate to cope with the psychological activities of this establishment.  Reverting to the desk, the manager appeared dazed and absent-minded as usual.

“The boy,” he said, indicating the Chinese, “will show you to the Shield Room.”

Bedient trailed the soft-footed oriental through the bewildering hall, until he saw Senor Rey standing in a doorway—­and behind him a low-lit arcanum of leather and metal....  The face of the Spaniard was startling, like the discovery of a crime.  It was lean and livid as a cadaver.  The pallor of the entire left cheek, including the corner of the lips, had the shine of an old burn, the pores run together in a sort of changeless glaze.  In the haggard, bloodless face, eyes shone with black brilliance.  The teeth were whole and prominent, as was the entire bony structure of the face and skull.  Senor Rey had a tall, attenuated figure, with military shoulders.  He moved with great difficulty, as if lacking control of his lower limbs, but in his hands was the contrast—­long, white, swift and perfectly preserved.  The scarred face and ruffled throat united to form in Bedient’s mind the hideous suggestion that the Spaniard had once been tortured full-length—­his flesh once thrawned in machinery of the devil....  Bedient’s hand was grasped in a cold bony grip, and his eyes held for an instant in the bright unquiet gaze of the Spaniard.

“I welcome you, Mr. Bedient....  Do you plan to be with us some little time?” The Senor spoke in a low, monotonous way.  His English was but little colored by native speech.

“I cannot tell yet,” said Bedient.  “I have long wanted to see your wonderful house, but this particular moment, I came to find a certain man——­”