Slowly it increased in size, until it was as big, perhaps, as a large cocoanut and of about the same shape.
Now it changed—changed so suddenly that I neither saw nor knew how the change came.
A human head was there—it was the head of a man—it was the head of Mr. Mirrikh—the face was partly yellow—partly black!
Eyes, nose, mouth—every feature was perfect, yet there was nothing but the head resting on the floor.
Suddenly the eyes turned toward me and fixed themselves on my own. Then I saw the lips move, and as distinctly as I ever heard human lips utter sounds, I heard him say:
“Mr. Wylde, I greet you! This is the way we come up!”
Did I answer?
Never!
To save me from death I could not have spoken.
I saw the head rise—saw bust and shoulders form from filmy vapor. Next, he was there on his hands and knees, and then with a sudden spring he leaped to his feet and stood beside his own corpse—a man!
“Turn your head the other way, Mr. Wylde. You have seen all that is best for you to see,” he said in that calm way which I remembered so well.
Now I was as powerless to remain without motion as before I had been powerless to move—my head seemed to turn of its own accord.
“Wylde! Wylde! Wake up! Wake up, man!”
Merciful God, had I been asleep? Was it a dream again? Do not ask me, for I do not know!
All I can say is that I sprang from the k’ang my own master, and found myself facing that man of mystery, weighed down by a sense of awe.
It was Mirrikh—Mirrikh in the flesh—Mirrikh alive—the same Mirrikh who had talked with us in the tower.
I turned my eyes, seeking the corpse.
It had disappeared.
