In the mellow light of the Chinese room, the man’s shadow spread across the thickly-rugged floor. He turned around to study every feature of the room. He inspected each article, but touched nothing.
He gazed carefully at the bronze image of Chong; that silent, glaring idol from far-off Cathay. The figure was hideous; its arms and legs were thin carvings. The fingers of its bronze hands were long-nailed talons.
The sculptor who had perpetrated that image must have been governed by a morbid imagination, for it looked like no creature that had ever lived.
The man in black went to the Chinese chair. It aroused his curiosity. It was built like a throne, with a broad seat and solid, upright arms.
The man placed his gloved hands on the arms of the chair. His fingers found two buttons. He pressed them.
With a smooth mechanical motion, the seat of the chair broke in half. Both portions dropped. At the same instant, a cloud of steamlike smoke arose and enveloped the black-clad man.
His eyes caught a full view of a room below, where a springy net was set to catch a falling body. Then two panels fell from the arms of the chair. They formed a new seat to replace the one that had dropped.
The secret of Doctor Palermo’s mysterious disappearance was revealed!
Covered by the rising smoke, Palermo had dropped from view and the heavy Oriental chair had become an apparently solid structure. Evidently the room below communicated with the small elevator shaft up which Palermo had risen on that eventful evening.
The investigator made a short further inspection. He stepped out on the roof, which seemed very large in the darkness, its further rail showing white at the opposite end of the building. The penthouse was at one end of the apartment house.