“You are in danger, here,” she said.
“Not here,” replied Palermo. “Here I am safe.”
“But you are lonely. Only Hassan is with you.”
“Not only Hassan.” A faint smile appeared upon Palermo’s countenance, as he waved his hand toward the corner of the room. “Don’t forget Chong. He is good company.”
The girl looked at the bronze image, with its folded arms, and its ugly, glaring face. She could not repress a shudder. The hideous metal idol seemed to disturb the melodious harmony of the Chinese room.
Thelda turned pleadingly to Palermo, but the man seemed obdurate. Silently, the girl left the sanctum.
For many minutes, Doctor Palermo sat motionless in his throne, while the gold dragon on his crimson robe seemed to writhe with the breeze from the roof.
Palermo was plotting new schemes, planning moves like a chess-master, far in advance. His eyes were on the bronze image of Chong; as he stared at it, the ugly smile came upon his face. It would have been difficult then to have decided which was more hideous — the horrible idol or its sinister owner.
CHAPTER XI. DEAD MEN DO NOT TELL
THE trap was laid. But even the man who had laid it could not foresee the outcome.