THE sound of a low, melodious voice pervaded the Oriental room upstairs. Doctor Palermo, clad in his crimson robe, was speaking, as he sat in his thronelike chair.
Before him sat the feminine visitor, an alluring smile upon her lips; and beyond was the distant vista of the lighted metropolis.
“You have done well,” said Doctor Palermo. “Our work has been slow, but careful. Sometimes I have chafed at the delay. Had we used more haste, it would not have been necessary for me to take certain risky measures with other persons.
“However, I do not fear the consequences. One hour more, and the wealth that you have left with me will be ours.”
“Will be yours, Albert,” replied the woman softly. “Yours, as I am yours.”
“Thelda, you have served me well.” Doctor Palermo’s voice expressed approval. “In return, I have promised you happiness. With that happiness, you shall have wealth. Wealth and power. Without wealth and power, no one can be truly happy.
“Then”—the man’s voice became prophetic—”you and I can perform great undertakings. When you love me, Thelda, you love the most powerful man the world has ever known.”
There was no boastfulness in Doctor Palermo’s statement. He recited it as a fact. The woman nodded in understanding.
The man in the crimson robe arose and walked to the doors that opened on the roof. He surveyed the panorama of twinkling lights, and his lips formed that ugly, evil smile.
“The world is mine”—resumed the speaker—”mine, if I choose to take it. But the one failing of those who possess power is their desire to overexert it.