Florence allowed her eyes to wander. They took in the window. At that moment a great electric sign, some distance away, burst forth with a brilliant red light. Across this flash of light, running straight up and down, were two dark lines. She noted this, but for the moment gave it no serious thought. It was of tremendous importance, for all that. A simple fact, lightly observed but later recalled, has more than once saved a life.
“You wished to see the Professor,” Madame reminded her. There was an evil glint in her eye. At the same time the torch in the corner hissed, then flamed white.
“Yes, I—well, you see,” the girl explained in a voice that was a trifle weak, “I am interested in religion.”
“What kind of religion?” Madame Zaran smiled an evil smile.
“Why, all kinds.”
“The Professor,” said Madame, “is the sole representative of a religious order found only in the hidden places of India. It is a very secret order. They are mystic, and they worship fire, FIRE.”
She repeated that last word in a manner that caused the big girl’s cheek to blanch. The torch in the corner went sput-sput-sput.
“Fire,” said the Professor in a voice that was extraordinarily deep for one so small, “Fire destroys all, ALL! All that I know, all that you know may be destroyed by a single breath of flame.”
“Yes, I—”
Florence’s throat was dry. To calm her fluttering heart she gazed again at the window. Once more the red light of that street sign flared out. As before, two dark lines cut across it, up and down. Then, like a flash, the girl knew what those lines were. They ran from the roof to the ground. She had noted them in a dreamy sort of way as she entered the building. Now they appeared to stand out before her in bold relief.