It was a wavering sort of face. Had Johnny been superstitious he might have said it was a ghost, for now the lips and eyes were distinct, and now they were irregular and all but lost.
Then with a sharp cry Johnny sprang to his feet.
“Where is he?” he cried. “I must find him!”
He had recognized that face. It was the man who sat beside him at the auction, who had all but forced him to bid in that package containing the bronze lamp, who had later more than likely struck him over the head in that dark alley.
“Iggy the Snake!” He fairly shouted the name aloud.
That this was the living image of Iggy he could not doubt. He was blinking his eyes. He was talking to someone; that is, his lips moved, though no sound reached Johnny.
That this was no mere moving picture Johnny knew well enough. That Iggy was not in the next room, looking in at him, he knew quite as well. Iggy could never have held the expression of quiet unconcern registered on his face had he known that any honest person, let alone Johnny, was looking upon him.
“It’s magic!” Johnny exclaimed. At the same instant he knew this was not true.
“Where is he?” he exclaimed once again.
He leaped for the door. It was locked. It was a massive door. He could not hope to break it down, even should he desire to do so.