"Naarboveck—To me! Help!" he shouted.
No answer came through the darkness.
Did he hear a distant, stifled groan?
Dazzling light flooded the studio.
Fandor, who could see through the eyeholes of the mask, supple as skin, stared about him with intense curiosity.
This extraordinary studio revealed a blood-freezing spectacle.
Facing him, immobile, rigid, was stationed a being whom Fandor had had a fleeting glimpse of two or three times in his life. He had seen this enigmatic and formidable being under circumstances so tragic, on occasions so phenomenal, that this being's outline was graven on his memory for ever!
There was the cloak of many folds, dense black; the hooded mask, the large soft hat shading the eyes; the strange inimitable outline!... Fandor was facing Fantômas!
Fantômas!
With bent shoulders and straining muscles, Fandor made desperate attempts to free himself, the while his eyes were fixed on the terrifying apparition confronting him!