“The cab is paid for,” he said. “It would be best for you to ride in it. Besides”—he pointed to Hassan, who was closing the doors to the roof—”it is raining now. I have made all the arrangements. Come!”
Burke followed the physician down the spiral staircase. He felt steady now. The door at the bottom was open; a minute later they were standing by the elevator.
“The hallman will show you to the cab,” said Doctor Palermo, as the elevator arrived.
“Thanks,” replied Burke.
The elevator door closed, and the newspaperman began his downward trip.
Doctor Palermo turned, went back into his apartment, and up the spiral staircase to his Oriental room.
There he rested in his thronelike chair, for all the world like an Eastern potentate.
“There are big fish,” observed Doctor Palermo softly, “and there are little fish. Big nets for the big. Little nets for the little. This one was little. Perhaps there is a big fish, also.”
Hassan appeared with another glass of the gold-flaked liqueur. Doctor Palermo drained the fluid in one swallow.
Then, with the glass still in his hand, he looked straight across the room, and his lips spread to form a demoniacal smile — a smile that betokened evil satisfaction.