Chick’s first thought was that he had flashed the light upon a panel mirror, reflecting it and himself. On the instant, however, he saw the door, the black-clad figure, the masked face and the glittering eyes gleaming through it.
“Great guns!” he gasped involuntarily. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
The question was echoed with icy composure by the man backed by the swaying portière. His voice came with a sinister, metallic ring through his black mask. He did not stir from his position or move foot or finger.
Chick watched him to be sure of it. If a gun was to be drawn, he was resolved to be the first to draw it. He kept the glare of his searchlight on him, distinctly revealing him, while the masked unknown used his with like effect, but neither reached for a weapon. It impressed Chick as one of the most singular and sensational situations in which he had ever figured with a solitary man.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“What are you doing?” demanded the other.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Nor have you answered mine.”
“I don’t intend to answer yours,” Chick said sternly.