Manchurian Books

From the anteroom came shouting, a rush of
feet.
Yolara's face was white, her eyes strained--but her voice was unshaken
as she called to the clamouring guards:
"It is nothing--go to your places!"
But when the sound of their return had ceased she stared tensely at
the Irishman--then looked again at the shattered vase.
"It is true!" she cried, "but see, the Keth is--alive!"
I followed her pointing finger. Each broken bit of the crystal was
vibrating, shaking its particles out into space. Broken it the bullet
of Larry's had--but not released it from the grip of the
disintegrating force. The priestess's face was triumphant.
"But what matters it, O shining urn of beauty--what matters it to the
vase that is broken what happens to its fragments?" asked Larry,
gravely--and pointedly.
The triumph died from her face and for a space she was silent;
brooding.
"Next," whispered O'Keefe to me. "Lots of surprises in the little
box; keep your eye on the opening and see what comes out."
We had not long to wait.


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