Then he looked at the blank space at the bottom of the second page. His fixed stare saw something there — a spot of deep crimson that seemed to hold limitless depths.
It was the vision of The Shadow’s fire opal, which still impressed Berger’s dominated mind.
The young man sighed in relief as he affixed his signature below the message. He folded the two sheets of paper, and placed them in the envelope which he had addressed.
The envelope was stamped. Berger sealed it, and arose slowly from his chair.
It was all like a dream to Stanley Berger. His mind had been feverish and excited from the remembrance of the crime which he had committed.
The shock that had resulted from his meeting with the man in black; the soothing words that had been spoken to him; the mystic glow of the large fire opal — all these had caused his brain to yield. He had reached a hypnotic state, and was carrying out the suggestions that had been given to him.
Berger walked slowly toward the door of his apartment. There was a mail chute in the hall. That was his destination. The letter seemed to burn his hand. Until it was safely on its way, he could feel no relief.
He opened the door; then stood stock-still. His path was blocked by a dark-clad figure, a form which Stanley Berger scarcely saw, yet could not pass.
The man who barred his way wore a red mask over his face. He extended two hands that were clad with thin red gloves. Slowly, but firmly, he pushed Stanley Berger back into the apartment.
The young man spoke, as though dreaming. His voice was thoughtful, and mechanical.