He slumped weakly down against an ivory
stair.
It was apparent that something portentous had occurred, something
which, for the moment at least, had postponed his own petty disaster.
What was it? Had the negroes risen in revolt? Had the aviators forced
aside the iron bars of the grating? Or had the men of Fish stumbled
blindly through the hills and gazed with bleak, joyless eyes upon the
gaudy valley? John did not know. He heard a faint whir of air as the
lift whizzed up again, and then, a moment later, as it descended. It
was probable that Percy was hurrying to his father's assistance, and
it occurred to John that this was his opportunity to join Kismine and
plan an immediate escape. He waited until the lift had been silent for
several minutes; shivering a little with the night cool that whipped
in through his wet pyjamas, he returned to his room and dressed
himself quickly. Then he mounted a long flight of stairs and turned
down the corridor carpeted with Russian sable which led to Kismine's
suite.
The door of her sitting-room was open and the lamps were lighted.
Kismine, in an angora kimono, stood near the window Of the room in a
listening attitude, and as John entered noiselessly she turned toward
him.
"Oh, it's you!" she whispered, crossing the room to him. "Did you hear
them?"
I heard your father's slaves in my---"
"No," she interrupted excitedly.
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