curious mingling of craft and stupidity carved in his flat, olive features.
Mark made up his mind suddenly and desperately to an old and obvious trick. With a glance at the position of the door, he flung his hat swiftly over the little flickering lamp and snatched the papers out of the darkness. He heard a whine of steel that cut the air close to his ear, and felt a soft body that went down before him as he charged madly for the door. In the temple-room there was utter stillness till the low frenzy of sing-song voices and the pad of footsteps woke behind him. He looked around quickly and darted, for the moment, into the solid darkness behind the largest image, and there crouched, listening.
His hands sought out the squat shape of the big joss and slipped suddenly into an opening beneath it. It was of hollow bronze; he crawled cautiously inside it and stood upright. Once, perhaps, jewels had been set in the eye-sockets of the god, but time had long since taken them, and Mark could peer out into the smoky darkness of the temple through the empty eyeholes. He could not see the crouching forms that searched the temple, but he could
