Page:Weird Tales Volume 38 Number 01 (1944-09).djvu/23

 Long after Cranston had departed, Chang Kien sat alone in the great room upstairs in which he slept. It was a room of austere simplicity, all the draperies were of purple and dark blue. There were a few chairs scattered about, a great bed and an enormous library table well stacked with books. Chang Kien considered that a house only was cozily furnished when there were books in every room. He switched off the electric lights and seated himself in a comfortable armchair. Lazily he lighted a cigarette. It was the hour of the day which he enjoyed most. Each night he sat alone in the darkness before retiring. He liked to review the events of the day. Usually they were worth musing over. His existence had always been rather venturesome and exciting. He loved to study faces. He thought of the people who had recently visited his house to view the diamond. They had come from all walks of life, all sorts and conditions of men and several women, enough material for a hundred dramas. He thought of Gray Anthony and of Ives Cranston. There could be no doubt that they knew each other. At least Cranston knew Anthony, and yet he had denied it. Odd. But then Chang Kien had lived in China, in the Gobi Desert where strange, unbelievable things frequently happen. He had schooled himself to be surprised, to be shocked at nothing. On the other hand he trusted no man. How many friends he had he neither knew nor cared. His sole consideration was the exact number of his enemies. That was a problem worthy of reflection.

How long he remained sitting in the chair he knew not. It was a moment of complete relaxation. He was off guard. He was resting. If the mask slipped from his face what did it matter? All of us wear masks. Expressions never reflect the true man. But they are as necessary as one's clothes to hide one's nakedness.

He had been dozing but now he was fully awake in an instant. He always slept like a soldier prepared for battle. The thing that aroused him was a feeling that someone was moving about downstairs. He did not know whether he had actually heard a sound. Nor did he care. He had a sort of sixth sense that warned him of danger. Perhaps it was purely natural, since many years of his life had been spent in desert places. He knew that his faithful valet, Shung Kung had retired. They had come upstairs together. Shung Kung was more than a servant. He was a trusted companion, a friend. His faithfulness had been tested time and time again. He was the partner in all his master's numerous enterprises.

Chang Kien listened, every nerve tense. There was scarcely any sound but still he knew that someone had stealthily entered the house. Slowly, cautiously he rose to his feet. He was no longer smoking. His cigarette had long since been consumed. And he was glad. The faint aroma on the air might be perceptible to a keen sense even above the pungent fragrance of the incense.

Fortunately the door of his room was still open, so there was no danger of its creaking. He slipped off his slippers. Barefooted he crept stealthily out into the hall. He was unarmed, nor did he make any attempt to secure a weapon. Step by step he crept down the stairs. They were carpeted in rich velvet, heavily padded. Even had he worn shoes his footfalls could not have been heard. At last he arrived at the library door and peered eagerly within, taking every precaution not to be seen. Before the wall safe was Ives Cranston. He had opened the safe and was just drawing the diamond from it as Chang Kien beheld him. He carried no light for the moon was at the full. It flooded the room in a soft, silvery radiance, at least that part of the room that held the wall-safe. It was as though the very perfection of the night had decided to help in the robbery. Chang Kien watched Cranston only for a second. Then he made his way slowly back upstairs to his room. There he found Shung Kung awaiting him. Shung whispered to him softly as he entered. In a few brief words his master informed him of what he had perceived.

"Subterfuge," he murmured, "is a terrible thing." Thus speaking, he sighed and lay down upon the bed.

Meanwhile Ives Cranston had secured the diamond. He left through the open window by which he had entered. He had found it unlatched when he arrived, so it was not necessary to try to pick the door-lock. He was jubilant. The gorgeous Gobi Diamond was his at last. It was worth coming from