He saw nothing, and the light in the little lift assured him that all was well. With a grunt of satisfaction, Flash moved on to the spiral stairway.
His footsteps clanked upon the metal as he descended the twisting way. Again The Shadow was behind the racketeer, keeping pace with him. But The Shadow’s feet made no sound whatever.
Had Flash decided to look up, he would have seen no one. For the sharp curve to the staircase kept The Shadow entirely out of view.
At the foot of the stairway, Flash came to the sliding door. It opened. The racketeer went in. The door closed behind him. Flash looked about the oddly papered room while it was moving upward.
He was actually alone now. The Shadow had not followed here.
Soon Flash Donegan was standing before the carved door that bore the lion’s head. He saw the greenish glow of peering eyes. He passed inspection. The door slid aside, and Flash entered the reception hall.
He went no farther. It was evidently unnecessary for Flash to see the man who lived here. Chandra, the Burmese, approached, and Flash pulled a crinkling envelope from his pocket.
“Wait,” said the servant.
He was gone for several minutes. When he returned, he carried a large slate. Upon it, inscribed in closely written words, was a message which Flash perused. It was the answer to the note which the racketeer had sent in to Henri Zayata.
“The master cannot see you now,” informed Chandra. “He is busy. This is his reply.”