He had reached the head of the stairs. He stood on the threshold of a dimly lighted room. It was an antechamber, furnished in Chinese style. A grinning joss rested beside the entrance. A paneled door showed between two curtains. That was evidently where Sneaks had gone!
What was happening behind that door?
The room seemed to have an alluring power. Try as he would, Cliff could not repress the urge to slip closer. This was increased by the sound of mumbled voices. The door was evidently a thin one, or the crack beneath it was by no means soundproof.
Cliff moved forward. He reached the door and crouched there. Even then, he could not make out words from the low conversation on the other side.
The room was a narrow one. It was also low-ceilinged. Cliff had walked forward about seven steps to reach the mysterious door. By spreading his arms, he could touch the wall on either side. After he had listened for several minutes, he chanced to move backward a trifle.
He bumped suddenly against something solid. He swung quickly, with his gun in hand.
Behind him was another door — a duplicate of the one in front. Silently, unnoticed, it had descended from the ceiling. He was in a boxlike trap, scarcely five feet square, not much over six feet in height!
Cliff clutched a curtain in front of him. His head was beginning to swim. That was odd! He tried to rise to his feet, but found it impossible. Dizziness swept over him. His throat was becoming numbed. Gasping, he sought to cry out, but an inarticulate gurgle was his only response.
Cliff sank to the floor, moaning. Some powerful gas was overwhelming him. If he could only signal to Harry! It was too late, now.
Cliff’s automatic slid from his nerveless fingers. He crumpled upon the floor. He fancied that he heard his name being whispered.