Flash nodded and chuckled. He gave the slate back to the Burmese, and turned toward the oaken door. Zayata’s reply was sufficient.
Chandra opened the door, and Flash returned to the moving room. The oak-paneled door closed. Flash descended and alighted at the foot of the spiral stairway.
He saw no one here. It was very dark behind the curving base of the iron staircase. Flash did not give any attention to the narrow space that existed there. He started his upward trip. His footsteps clanked less noticeably as he reached the top.
Then a form emerged from the space at the base of the stairs. It grew from nothingness — a black shape that took on the semblance of a human being. The Shadow, tall and mysterious, stood alone.
He advanced to the sliding door in front of the staircase. Here, black-clad hands began to probe. A thin, pliable instrument of steel gleamed dully in the dim light.
A secret spring clicked; the sliding door moved back. The Shadow entered the room with the curious wall paper. There, he remained, silent and unmoving.
Upstairs, Henri Zayata reclined upon the gorgeous divan. Beside him sat Margaret Glendenning. The girl was attired in a sweeping gown — a luxurious garment that she had found in the closet of the guest room.
She had enjoyed her stay at Henri Zayata’s mysterious and magnificent abode. She sighed as she realized that some time she must leave these delightful surroundings.
ZAYATA heard the sigh. He turned to the girl, a look of grave concern upon his face. His eyes were questioning and sympathetic. Margaret smiled.
“I was just thinking,” she said. “Thinking how wonderful it is here. Thinking how much I shall dislike leaving.”