A triangular drawer passed slowly out.

His fingers moved instinctively towards it, dipped in, and closed on something.

It was a small Chinese box of black and gold-dust lacquer, elaborately wrought, the sides patterned with curved waves, and the silken cords hung with round crystals and tasselled in plaited metal threads.

He opened it.
Inside was a green paste, waxy in lustre, the odour curiously heavy and persistent.
He hesitated for some moments, with a strangely immobile smile upon his face.

Then shivering, though the atmosphere of the room was terribly hot, he drew himself up and glanced at the clock.