“When will he return?”
“Not until midnight.”
Clarendon’s words were amazing in their tone. They bore a marked resemblance to the sinister speech of The Shadow and at the same time carried no unfriendliness.
Thelda’s replies were spasmodic. They seemed to come without effort, as though the girl spoke without realizing what she said.
“I am going to Palermo’s apartment tonight,” said the man.
“Don’t go!” The girl’s words carried anxiety. “There are terrible dangers there!”
Thelda’s eyes were wide with fear for the safety of this man whose personality had conquered her. All loyalty to Palermo was forgotten. George Clarendon now dominated her existence.
“Tell me”—came Clarendon’s quiet tones—”where the danger lies.”
“In the Chinese room,” replied Thelda, speaking in a far-away voice. She seemed to be visualizing that apartment with all its barbaric splendor.
“There are many snares in that room. Some objects are charged with an electric current sufficient to stun or kill any one touching them. There is a little incense burner, so exquisite that one cannot resist the temptation of examining it.