Up an uncarpeted stair Cyrus Kilfane led the party, and into a kind of lumber-room lighted by a tin oil lamp and filled to overflowing with heterogeneous and unsavory rubbish. Here were garments, male and female, no less than five dilapidated bowler hats, more tea-chests, broken lamps, tattered fragments of cocoanut-matting, steel bed-laths and straw mattresses, ruins of chairs—the whole diffusing an indescribably unpleasant odor.  
Opening a cupboard door, Kilfane revealed a number of pendent, ragged garments, and two more bowler hats. Holding the garments aside, he banged upon the back of the cupboard—three blows, a pause, and then two blows.
 
Following a brief interval, during which even Mollie Gretna was held silent by the strangeness of the proceedings.
 
“Who is it?” inquired a muffled voice.
 
“Cy and the crowd,” answered Kilfane.
 
Thereupon ensued a grating noise, and hats and garments swung suddenly backward, revealing a doorway in which Mrs. Sin stood framed. She wore a Japanese kimona of embroidered green silk and a pair of green and gold brocaded slippers which possessed higher heels than Rita remembered to have seen even Mrs. Sin mounted upon before. Her ankles were bare, and it was impossible to determine in what manner she was clad beneath the kimona. Undoubtedly she had a certain dark beauty, of a bold, abandoned type.
 
“Come right in,” she directed. “Mind your head, Lucy.”
 
The quartette filed through into a carpeted corridor, and Mrs. Sin reclosed the false back of the cupboard, which, viewed from the other side, proved to be a door fitted into a recess in the corridor of the adjoining house. This recess ceased to exist when a second and heavier door was closed upon the first.
 
“You know,” murmured Kilfane, “old Sin Sin has his uses, Lola. Those doors are perfectly made.”
 
“Pooh!” scoffed the woman, with a flash of her dark eyes; “he is half a ship's carpenter and half an ape!”
 
She moved along the passage, her arm linked in that of Sir Lucien. The others followed, and:
 
“Is she truly married to that dreadful Chinaman?” whispered Mollie Gretna.
 
“Yes, I believe so,” murmured Kilfane. “She is known as Mrs. Sin Sin Wa.”
 
“Oh!” Mollie's eyes opened widely. “I almost envy her! I have read that Chinamen tie their wives to beams in the roof and lash them with leather thongs until they swoon. I could die for a man who lashed me with leather thongs. Englishmen are so ridiculously gentle to women.”
 
Opening a door on the left of the corridor, Mrs. Sin displayed a room screened off into three sections. One shaded lamp high up near the ceiling served to light all the cubicles, which were heated by small charcoal stoves. These cubicles were identical in shape and appointment, each being draped with quaint Chinese tapestry and containing rugs, a silken divan, an armchair, and a low, Eastern table.
 
“Choose for yourself,” said Mrs. Sin, turning to Rita and Mollie Gretna. “Nobody else come tonight. You two in this room, eh? Next door each other for company.”
 
She withdrew, leaving the two girls together. Mollie clasped her hands ecstatically.
 
“Oh, my dear!” she said. “What do you think of it all?”
 
“Well,” confessed Rita, looking about her, “personally I feel rather nervous.”
 
“My dear!” cried Mollie. “I am simply quivering with delicious terror!”
 
Rita became silent again, looking about her, and listening. The harsh voice of the Cuban-Jewess could be heard from a neighboring room, but otherwise a perfect stillness reigned in the house of Sin Sin Wa. She remembered that Mrs. Sin had said, “It is quiet—so quiet.”
 
“The idea of undressing and reclining on these divans in real oriental fashion,” declared Mollie, giggling, “makes me feel that I am an odalisque already. I have dreamed that I was an odalisque, dear—after smoking, you know. It was heavenly. At least, I don't know that 'heavenly' is quite the right word.”
 
And now that evil spirit of abandonment came to Rita—communicated to her, possibly, by her companion. Dread, together with a certain sense of moral reluctance, departed, and she began to enjoy the adventure at last. It was as though something in the faintly perfumed atmosphere of the place had entered into her blood, driving out reserve and stifling conscience.
 
When Sir Lucien reappeared she ran to him excitedly, her charming face flushed and her eyes sparkling.
 
“Oh, Lucy,” she cried, “how long will our things be? I'm keen to smoke!”
 
His jaw hardened, and when he spoke it was with a drawl more marked than usual.
 
“Mareno will be here almost immediately,” he answered.
 
The tone constituted a rebuff, and Rita's coquetry deserted her, leaving her mortified and piqued. She stared at Pyne, biting her lip.
 
“You don't like me tonight,” she declared. “If I look ugly, it's your fault; you told me to wear this horrid old costume!”
 
He laughed in a forced, unnatural way.
 
“You are quite well aware that you could never look otherwise than maddeningly beautiful,” he said harshly. “Do you want me to recall the fact to you again that you are shortly to be Monte Irvin's wife—or should you prefer me to remind you that you have declined to be mine?”
 
Turning slowly, he walked away, but:
 
“Oh, Lucy!” whispered Rita.
 
He paused, looking back.
 
“I know now why you didn't want me to come,” she said. “I—I'm sorry.”
 
The hard look left Sir Lucien's face immediately and was replaced by a curious, indefinable expression, an expression which rarely appeared there.
 
“You only know half the reason,” he replied softly.
 
At that moment Mrs. Sin came in, followed by Mareno carrying two dressing-cases. Mollie Gretna had run off to Kilfane, and could be heard talking loudly in another room; but, called by Mrs. Sin, she now returned, wide-eyed with excitement.
 
Mrs. Sin cast a lightning glance at Sir Lucien, and then addressed Rita.
 
“Which of these three rooms you choose?” she asked, revealing her teeth in one of those rapid smiles which were mirthless as the eternal smile of Sin Sin Wa.
 
“Oh,” said Rita hurriedly, “I don't know. Which do you want, Mollie?”
 
“I love this end one!” cried Mollie. “It has cushions which simply reek of oriental voluptuousness and cruelty. It reminds me of a delicious book I have been reading called Musk, Hashish, and Blood.”
 
“Hashish!” said Mrs. Sin, and laughed harshly. “One night you shall eat the hashish, and then—”
 
She snapped her fingers, glancing from Rita to Pyne.
 
“Oh, really? Is that a promise?” asked Mollie eagerly.
 
“No, no!” answered Mrs. Sin. “It is a threat!”
 
Something in the tone of her voice as she uttered the last four words in mock dramatic fashion caused Mollie and Rita to stare at one another questioningly. That suddenly altered tone had awakened an elusive memory, but neither of them could succeed............