scarcely a bit of dust anywhere that was not at one time or other part of human flesh.
"A century ago there was a quaint street called Spice Lane that started only a few hundred feet from where this tavern now stands. Shall we explore it together?"
"But that was a centry ago!" Wedmore ejaculated. He tried to smile but the muscles of his face refused to function.
"Time ceases when the mists begin."
Wedmore rose to his feet. He felt very old.
"I will go with you," he said.
"That is well. Together we will set out on a gentle journey. May no tiger stop our path."
Feng Yen led the way from the cafe into a fog-drenched soundless street, peopled by figures as formless as clay.
"After a typhoon, there are pears to gather. In a fog there are even greater riches."
Into Spice Lane they walked. Wedmore was puzzled at this strange new street that was nobody knows how old, yet it had not been there at dawn. His flesh felt as though it were creeping along the bones, intent on evading the fear that was but a moment away. Nevertheless at least now the air was not so stifling and he could breathe more easily.
Feng Yen strode along at a great pace, though without effort. His eyes glowed like lanterns in the mist.
"Fogs," he murmured, "are given people to efface reality. Have you a revolver?" "No," Wedmore replied, surprised at the abruptness of the interrogation.
"Most regrettable."
"Why? Are we in danger?"
"One is always in danger who walks close to life. Have you a knife?"
"Yes."
"Sharp?"
"Quite." Alan Wedmore handed him the knife. "For what purpose do you need it?"
"That I may kill a man."
"I'll have no part in it!"
"Be not disturbed. You have nothing to fear, for the man I am about to kill is Gat Neber who lived in Singapore more than a hundred years ago. In the flush of his youth, there was a day when the fog descended on Singapore as it did today on Buitenzorg. Then, too, I walked back into the mortal world, for fogs bridge reality. At a tavern I stopped for a cup of wine. And there I met Gat Neber. We drank together, and as we drank we grew friendly. In an excess of confidence I told him about my daughter, Kim, she who is as slim and graceful as a young elm and with eyes of such dark lustre the stars weep in envy. Gat Neber listened to my words as though bound by a spell, the spell of the enchanting Kim whom the world knows of only in legend. He begged me to take him back with me through the streets where the mists begin. I had drunk too much wine. Aly guard was weakened and I grew careless. Yes, I agreed to take him with me, but I should have waited before doing so till the Yellow River runs clear. Long have I regretted that I did not show him only the whites of my eyes. Far better would it have been, had I permitted gentle Kim to dwell in peaceful obscurity. As it was I took destruction back to her. She who had always been guarded so carefully suddenly found herself in a position as unenviable as though she had been into the market place where all men might bid for her services. She gazed at Gat Neber and was captivated. He belonged to a different age, a different world. She was confounded by the mystery that hung about him. In the days that followed awe turned to adoration. To Kim, that day a god arrived. In despair, I turned away and wept and my tears were red with anguish. Nevertheless Kim was happy,
