After cutting the wrappings of the burlap, Hassan left the laboratory and closed the door to the anteroom.
“What became of that guy that helped us?” questioned the porter, as he rode down in the elevator.
“Guess he came down with me,” replied the operator. “He came out with us. To tell you the truth, I forgot all about him. Ask the truck driver.”
The truck was no longer there when the porter reached the street, so the matter was forgotten.
IN the meantime, a passenger elevator was speeding upward to the fortieth floor. When it stopped, a woman stepped out, and rang the bell in Doctor Palermo’s anteroom.
Hassan, in the hallway, drew back a small curtain that covered a frame on the wall. He pressed a switch.
A picture lighted, to show a full view of the anteroom.
The woman in the picture was facing the closed door. She was smartly dressed, trim of figure, and exceedingly handsome. Her well-molded features, and eyes that sparkled beneath dark lashes were evidently familiar to the servant.
He pressed another switch as he closed the curtain over the picture. Then he went into the laboratory. It was fully fifteen seconds before the door opened of its own accord, and the woman entered.
It was Hassan who came from the door at the end of the hallway, and bowed in recognition. The woman walked along the hall, and as she passed a niche beside the bookcases, her shadow, long and fantastic, seemed to merge with a spot of blackness on the floor.