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Soames uttered a groan of terror, followed by a short, bubbling laugh, but was seized firmly by the arm and led on into the blackness - on through the solid, book-laden walls, presumably; and on - on - on, along those interminable passages by which he had come. Here the air was cooler, and the odor of roses no longer perceptible, no longer stifling him, no longer assailing his nostrils, not as an odor of sweetness, but as a perfume utterly damnable and unholy. With his knees trembling at every step, he marched on, firmly supported by his unseen companion. Stop! directed a metallic, guttural voice. Soames pulled up, and leaned weakly against the wall. He heard the clap of hands close behind him; and a door opened within twelve inches of the spot whereat he stood. He tottered out into the matting-lined corridor from which he had started upon that nightmare journey; Ho-Pin appeared at his elbow, but no door appeared behind Ho-Pin! This is your wroom, said the Chinaman, revealing his yellow teeth in a mirthless smile.
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