this is the true Nirvana, unrecognized even by the great majority of Buddhists who use the word.
“Friend Wylde,” he said, in answer to my demand; “I am at as great a loss to know how to meet your mental condition as you are at a loss to meet mine; and yet with the exception of a few facts which are the property of my friends the Hindu adepts, there is not a secret I possess not freely yours to-night.”
Here was the Doctor’s chance, and he lost no time in embracing it.
“Look here, my friend, are we all three included in that deal?” he demanded.
“You are.”
Mr. Mirrikh bowed with easy grace.
“And you will answer any question I may ask which does not concern the secrets of the adepts?”
“I will.”
“I’m going to question you.”
“You are welcome to do so.”
“Am I? Wait! First, what do you use to paint your face with, and why do you paint it at all?”
Not by the least look or gesture did Mr. Mirrikh show himself ruffled.
“Examine my face,” he said, in the calmest of tones.
“It is not necessary.”
“Pardon me, but it is necessary. I demand it.”
“Humph! Can’t you see that I understand?”
“Understand what?”
“That some disease has colored your face. I thought it was painted and wanted to try you; but when you consent”
“Stop! I demand that you examine my face before you ask another question.”
The Doctor hesitated no longer.
“Your face is not artificially colored sir,” he said constrainedly, after he had looked and felt to his heart’s content.
“What do you make out of it?”
“I can make nothing out of it. It is a face built in opposition to any physiological law I know anything about. You have probably had some disease unknown outside of the East.”
“You are wrong. Had you ever been in the planet you call Mars, you would know better. Such faces, though not universal, are common there.”
