none other you have ever beheld. Nobody ever enters it but myself, though now I am moved to escort you there.”
Coutts Cummings needed no second bidding. Slowly he followed Kwoh Fan down marvelous halls dim-lit with glimmering lanterns. Occasionally draperies fluttered in the breeze emitting a wondrous purple fragrance. Once or twice a slim girl disappeared around one of the many curves of that winding hall. The floor was covered by rugs of velvet softness. Everything was hushed. At last Kwoh Fan stopped. He drew a key from the sleeve of his coat and unlocked a great door. The next moment they were in a room entirely hung in dark blue draperies. At one end was a huge glass window through which the sun gleamed like an orange-gold lantern. It blended perfectly with the blue-soft sheen of the draperies.
“It is like living in the skies,” said Coutts Cummings softly.
“It is far better,” said Kwoh Fan, “for in this room is the famous ‘Jade Jar of Ilibar.’ ”
As he spoke, he parted the velvet curtains at one end of the room and there in a crypt stood a huge jar covered with carvings and fantastic designs. Its extreme age could not be questioned. Centuries had passed over it like years.
Kwoh Fan clutched Coutts Cummings by the shoulder, “It is the rarest antiquity of earth,” he breathed intensely. “It is of more value than all the famed jewels of India. No rajah has treasure like unto this. For sealed within this jar are a few drops of the rarest perfume ever drawn from flowers. Within the perfume are hidden all the wondrous scenes and adventures through which this jar has passed. Some day I will remove the cover, permitting the sweet perfume to issue from it. I have purposely had this room builded for that precious day. Can you imagine that perfect hour when all those wondrous scenes will loom up before me even as they appeared more than a thousand years ago?”
Late in the evening after the daylight had expired, Coutts Cummings wandered alone in the Chinese garden which surrounded the palace. The air was heavy with the breath of countless flowers. A soft breeze blew lyrically through the treetops. From the distance came the sound of music and the sing-song drone of celestial chanters. Overhead a yellow moon shimmered down, throwing the fronds of the trees into strong silhouette. It was a night of magic. The air was so cool it brushed his cheek like the soft hand of a Manchu princess.
Coutts Cummings breathed deeply of the fragrant air. The memory of that ancient jar in the blue-velvet room haunted him. He sighed softly as he re-entered the palace. In a lounging room he found Kwoh Fan listlessly drinking tea.
At his entrance, Kwoh Fan looked up drowsily. “Come linger here awhile with me,” he said. “Before retiring I always drink a few cups of the supreme liquor of all—blue-poppy scented tea. It brings happiness through forgetfulness. Drink with me until the night grows old.”
Kwoh Fan clapped his hands and a girl as frail as a flower brought a cup of the fragrant-scented tea and placed it on the table before Coutts Cummings. For a moment he breathed of the pungent vapor, then slowly
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