He tried to hold his breath, but in vain. The odor of the gas was scarcely noticeable, but its effects were benumbing. Harry sank to the floor and tried to seek fresh air at the bottom of the door; but the barrier was tightly closed.
There was no hope. His senses were going. Despite the dim light that pervaded this weird prison, blackness was closing over Harry’s eyes. He gasped once, and lay inert.
Minutes went by — minutes that were unknown to the two victims, each in his own gas-filled prison. A figure appeared at the top of the stairway — a black-clad form that had arrived there in total silence.
A man, almost invisible in the darkness of the stairway, stood surveying the scene before him with eyes that were shaded beneath the broad brim of a slouch hat. About the newcomer’s shoulders lay the folds of a black cloak, as he stood close by the squat, hideous idol at the entrance.
The same antechamber lay in front of this man — the antechamber that ended with a curtained door. But the distance to the barrier was now but ten feet— not fifteen. The man in black stood silently, as though fascinated — as though about to move forward.
Two victims had fallen in Loy Rook’s toils — each in his separate trap. The third snare was in readiness — for The Shadow!
CHAPTER XVII. THE THIRD SNARE
“KEEP watching,” said Loy Rook.
Sneaks Rubin, his pasty face gleaming, stared at the little taboret which the old Chinaman indicated. The carved piece of furniture was open, like a box. Within glowed tiny lights.
Loy Rook’s long-nailed forefinger ran along a row in which a single bulb was extinguished — the one at the end. He pointed to the last lighted bulb.