“Ahu hina—­G’nap’lis effendi!” he muttered, and went out as Mr. Gianapolis entered.

At sight of the Greek, Soames realized, in one emotional moment, how really lonely he had been and how in his inmost heart he longed for a sight of the sun, for a breath of unpolluted air, for a glimpse of gray, homely London.

All the old radiance had returned to Gianapolis; his eyes were crossed in an amiable smile.

“My dear Soames!” he cried, greeting the really delighted man.  “How well your new complexion suits you!  Sit down, Soames, sit down, and let us talk.”

Soames placed a chair for Gianapolis, and seated himself upon the bed, twirling his thumbs in the manner which was his when under the influence of excitement.

“Now, Soames,” continued Gianapolis—­“I mean Lucas!—­my anticipations, which I mentioned to you on the night of—­the accident... you remember?”

“Yes,” said Soames rapidly, “yes.”

“Well, they have been realized.  Our establishment, here, continues to flourish as of yore.  Nothing has come to light in the press calculated to prejudice us in the eyes of our patrons, and although your own name, Soames"...

Soames started and clutched at the bedcover.

“Although your own name has been freely mentioned on all sides, it is not generally accepted that you perpetrated the deed.”

Soames discovered his hair to be bristling; his skin tingled with a nervous apprehension.

“That I,” he began dryly, paused and swallowed—­“that I perpetrated....  Has it been"...

“It has been hinted at by one or two Fleet Street theorists—­yes, Soames!  But the post-mortem examination of—­the victim, revealed the fact that she was addicted to drugs"...

“Opium?” asked Soames, eagerly.

Gianapolis smiled.

“What an observant mind you have, Soames!” he said.  “So you have perceived that these groves are sacred to our Lady of the Poppies?  Well, in part that is true.  Here, under the auspices of Mr. Ho-Pin, fretful society seeks the solace of the brass pipe; yes, Soames, that is true.  Have you ever tried opium?”

“Never!” declared Soames, with emphasis, “never!”

“Well, it is a delight in store for you!  But the reason of our existence as an institution, Soames, is not far to seek.  Once the joys of Chandu become perceptible to the neophyte, a great need is felt—­a crying need.  One may drink opium or inject morphine; these, and other crude measures, may satisfy temporarily, but if one would enjoy the delights of that fairyland, of that enchanted realm which bountiful nature has concealed in the heart of the poppy, one must retire from the ken of goths and vandals who do not appreciate such exquisite delights; one must dedicate, not an hour snatched from grasping society, but successive days and nights to the goddess"...

Soames, barely understanding this discourse, listened eagerly to every word of it, whilst Gianapolis, waxing eloquent upon his strange thesis, seemed to be addressing, not his solitary auditor, but an invisible concourse.