Immelan was in bed, looking very ill
indeed. He was pale, and his china-blue eyes, curiously protruding, were
filled with an expression of haunting fear. A puzzled doctor was
standing by the bedside. A nurse, who was smoothing the bedclothes,
glanced around at Prince Shan's entrance. The invalid started
convulsively, and, clutching the pillows with his right hand, turned
towards his visitor.
"So you've come!" he exclaimed. "Stay where yon are! Don't go!
Doctor--nurse--leave us alone for a moment."
The nurse went at once. The doctor hesitated.
"My patient is a good deal exhausted," he said. "There are no dangerous
symptoms at present, but--"
"I will promise not to distress him," Prince Shan interrupted. "I am
myself somewhat pressed for time, and it is probable that your patient
will insist upon speaking to me in private."
The doctor followed the nurse from the room. Prince Shan stood looking
down upon the figure of quondam associate. There was a leaven of mild
wonder in his clear eyes, a faintly contemptuous smile about the corners
of his lips.
"So you are afraid of death, my friend," he observed, "afraid of the
death you planned so skilfully for me."
"It is a lie!" Immelan declared excitedly. "Sen Lu was never killed by
my orders. Listen! You have nothing against me. My death can do you no
good. It is you who have been at fault. You--Prince Shan--the great
diplomatist of the world--are gambling away your future and the future
of a mighty empire for a woman's sake.
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