The fantastic being stopped behind the man in black. He was removing the second ebony box. He drew back from the taboret.
The long emaciated arms of Chong shot swiftly forward. Tentaclelike, they clutched the neck of the stooping man.
With a choking gasp, the victim reached for his throat and tried vainly to rid himself of that terrible grasp.
The hands clutched more tightly, the long nails sinking into the flesh through the folds of the black cloak.
The victim writhed and tried to roll upon the floor. The hideous dwarf did not relax its grasp. With a last effort, the man in black-raised himself; then failed and sprawled head down upon the rug. His hat fell from his head. He lay still.
Slowly, the bronzed hands of the living image released their hold. The prostrate man did not respond.
Stepping backward, Chong withdrew to his pedestal.
He placed both hands upon the table. He lifted his body to its old position. There he sat, motionless again, the perfect representation of a metal idol. The only change in the appearance of the figure was the direction of its gaze.
Steadily, unflinchingly, this guardian of the sanctum waited in readiness for a new attack, should its victim show the slightest sign of regaining consciousness.
A telephone rang in the apartment below.