Burke, ghastly white, straightened up, quivering in every limb; the Tracer, as pale as he, laid his hand on the secret panel.

“If—­if you dare say it—­the phrase is this:  ’O Ket Samaris, Nehes!’—­’O Little Samaris, awake!’”

“I—­dare.  In Heaven’s name, open that door!”

Then, averting his head, the Tracer of Lost Persons swung open the panel.

A flood of sunshine flashed on Burke’s face; he entered; and the paneled door closed behind him without a sound.

Minute after minute passed; the Tracer stood as though turned to stone, gray head bent.

Then he heard Burke’s voice ring out unsteadily: 

“O Ket Samaris—­Samaris!  O Ket Samaris—­Nehes!”

And again:  “Samaris!  Samaris!  O beloved, awake!”

And once more:  “Nehes! O Samaris!”

Silence, broken by a strange, sweet, drowsy plaint—­like a child awakened at midnight by a dazzling light.

“Samaris!”

Then, through the stillness, a little laugh, and a softly tremulous voice: 

“Ari un aha, O Entuk sen!”

CHAPTER XXI

“What we want to do,” said Gatewood over the telephone, “is to give you a corking little dinner at the Santa Regina.  There’ll be Mr. and Mrs. Tommy Kerns, Captain and Mrs. Harren, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Burke, Mrs. Gatewood, and myself.  We want you to set the date for it, Mr. Keen, and we also wish you to suggest one more deliriously happy couple whom you have dragged out of misery and flung head-first into terrestrial paradise.”

“Do you young people really care to do this for me?” asked the Tracer, laughing.

“Of course we do.  We’re crazy about it.  We want one more couple, and you to set the date.”

There was the slightest pause; then the Tracer’s voice, with the same undertone of amusement ringing through it: 

“How would your cousin, Victor Carden, do?”

“He’s all right, only he isn’t married.  We want two people whom you have joined together after hazard has put them asunder and done stunts with them.”

“Very well; Victor Carden and his very lovely wife will be just the people.”

“Is Victor married?” demanded Gatewood, astonished.

“No,” said the Tracer demurely, “but he will be in time for that dinner.”  And he set the date for the end of the week in an amused voice, and rang off.

Then he glanced at the clock, touched an electric bell, and again unhooking the receiver of the telephone, called up the Sherwood Studios and asked for Mr. Carden.

“Is this Mr. Carden?  Oh, good morning, Mr. Carden!  This is Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons.  Could you make it convenient to call—­say in course of half an hour?  Thank you. . . .  What? . . .  Well, speaking with that caution and reserve which we are obliged to employ in making any preliminary statements to our clients, I think I may safely say that you have every reason to feel moderately encouraged.”