As he pronounced the name, Kerth fell against the cushions of the divan, drugged in sleep. Some one laughed--a laugh that rippled low in the throat. Trent did not look toward the sound immediately, although that was his first impulse. He let his eyes turn naturally and rest, at first incredulously, upon the woman who had entered and who stood regarding him with a mocking smile. The blood flooded his temples; after a second it receded, leaving him cold, numb, with a tingling sense of unreality. He did not rise; merely stared; and presently forced a smile.
"Sarojini Nanjee," he said, trying to put down the emotions that declared insurrection against his will. And he repeated, "Sarojini Nanjee, the Swaying Cobra?" He smiled. "I confess, I never once suspected."
Outlined against the gold draperies she stood, dressed as nautches dress, only with more richness and without the customary head-scarf. Her garments were full and as shimmery as cobwebs in the sun, and confined at the waist with a goldcloth girdle that matched the tint of her marvelously smooth skin. Her eyes burned under heavy lids, burned and mocked him; and by their feverish brightness he understood that this meeting wrought in her an excitement equal to his, although she was prepared for it.
"I did not intend that you should suspect," she told him as she moved to the divan where he reclined. "I knew you would not come if you did."
Not until then did he rise. He smiled, and the smile lingered as she bent over Kerth and drew back the lids from his eyes.
"Why did you disobey me by bringing this man?" she demanded, and, assured that Kerth was drugged, dropped gracefully upon the cushions.
The blood still throbbed at his temples. The irony of it, that they should meet again! And on this mission! She was as beautiful as ever. But the lure of her eyes--eyes as purple as moist violets--of her smooth golden skin and lithe body, no longer affected him. All that was in the sepulcher of the past. A memory that was like the taste of stale wine upon the tongue.
"I put a sleeping powder in his wine because what I am going to say is for only _your_ ears," she replied.
"And you're called the Swaying Cobra," he mused, more to himself than to the woman, "or did another write that note?"