conversation.
At first the talk was fairly audible, but of no consequence. Volovick spoke with a foreign accent.
Then his words became low, and Harry could not understand them. He strained his ears intently.
Just as he seemed about to catch a few remarks, Volovick's voice became a little louder, but now he was
talking in some unknown language.
Harry Vincent was no linguist. He could not even decide what tongue was being spoken. Suddenly
Volovick's voice became low again; he drew a watch from his pocket, and leaning shrewdly forward,
tapped his finger against the dial.
Evidently he was setting some time for an appointment. Harry was not sure.
Volovick leaned back in his chair. He replaced his watch in his pocket. Harry realized that he was
displaying too much interest in the conversation. He relaxed also, and, inspired by a sudden recollection,
glanced across the room toward the girl.
She had one elbow upon the table. Her small, slender hand rested against her cheek.
The girl caught Harry's glance. Her eyes were directly upon him. Her lips moved, forming a slow, distinct
sentence. Harry did not catch the meaning. The girl repeated her silent words.
'Look in back.'
The significance was fully evident now. A tense look appeared upon the girl's face. She seemed to
express worry and alarm. Harry knew instinctively that danger threatened.
With a quick swing, he gained his feet, turning toward the rear. He was just in time.
Two men had been sitting behind him. One had risen and was coming toward Harry. The man's hand
was moving from beneath his coat; Harry caught the gleam of a knife.
At that instant the lights were extinguished.
THE mind thinks rapidly in a moment of great danger. In the fraction of a second, the whole story was
clear to Harry. While he had been watching Volovick, the man in back of him had prepared for the
attack.
Another person had been stationed at the light switch. Both had acted simultaneously. One quick
stab—and Harry Vincent would have been the victim.
This realization came to Harry while he swung into action. Fortunately, he had seen the man who was
approaching him. He swung instinctively in the darkness.
His blow was calculated to perfection. His fist encountered a face; there was a snarling gasp, and Harry
heard the man crash to the floor.
Harry moved toward the center of the room. The door of the Pink Rat was straight ahead; but he
realized that flight would be folly. Doubtless some one was stationed outside.
Harry stumbled against a bench, and held it with his hands.
Loud shouts echoed through the room. One woman was screaming.
Harry gripped the bench tensely, wondering what would happen next. He had only a moment to wait.
A flashlight was turned on at the table where Volovick was sitting. Its glare was directed toward the spot
where Harry had been. Then it swung out across the room, and stopped, focused directly upon Harry.
Harry had turned toward the light; now he was staring straight into the blinding spot.
'There he is! Get him!'
The cry came from Volovick.
Lifting the bench, Harry flung it directly at the flashlight. At the same instant, two shots rang out.
As the bench left his grasp, Harry felt a stinging sensation in his left arm, above the elbow. He gripped the
spot with his right hand.
The bench which he had flung found its mark. Volovick must have raised an arm to ward it off; but it was
coming with terrific force. Harry heard the crash, as a table was overturned. Glasses broke.
The flashlight fell upon the floor, its gleam turned uselessly toward the rear wall.
Harry swayed as he gripped his wounded arm. Then a light hand was pressed against his right shoulder.
As he was about to swing away, a soft, feminine whisper stayed him.
'Come with me. Quickly.'
HARRY extended his right hand, and his wrist was grasped by a soft hand. Following the one who
conducted him, Harry was drawn directly toward the table where the girl had been seated.
He could see nothing in the darkness; he caught himself as he stumbled against a bench. Then the hand
left his wrist, and pressed against his shoulder.
He was pushed against the wall, and to his surprise it yielded. Harry was forced into a small
compartment. A portion of the wall had turned on a pivot!
The girl was still with him. Her presence was soothing. Harry felt a solid wall beyond, and leaned there.
'You are wounded?'
The soft voice was genteel—no longer a whisper. It was quiet here in the secret room; the noise from the
den outside seemed far away.
'Yes,' replied Harry.
'Where?'
'Left arm. Above the elbow.'
Harry's coat was gently eased from his shoulders. He twinged slightly as his left sleeve was slipped from
his arm. Then his shirt sleeve was drawn back, and he felt the pressure of a handkerchief as it was bound
about his muscle.
The makeshift bandage seemed to ease the pain.
'It's only a flesh wound,' whispered Harry hoarsely. 'I'll be all right. But tell me'—he seemed to forget
that he was still in great danger—'who are you?'
'Sh-h!' The girl's hand was placed upon his cheek, and a finger pressed against his lips, The touch
seemed caressing. 'Ask no questions, now. Later— perhaps.'
He could visualize the girl's lips, as they whispered, close to his ear.
'I must go. Wait here. Make no noise. Do not leave until I return.'
The hand left his face. Harry stood motionless for a moment. Then he reached toward the girl. He
wanted to hold her in his arms. He did not want her to leave.
But his hands encountered nothingness. As he moved forward, Harry reached the section of moving wall
through which they had come.
It was solid now, some secret spring had locked it noiselessly. He was alone—a prisoner—in the
pitch-dark compartment.
The mysterious girl had gone!
CHAPTER VIII. ANOTHER VISITOR
STANLEY BERGER finished his laborious writing. Before him lay two sheets of paper, filled with
carefully inscribed words. The young man's eyes did not see what he had written; they were upon the
final word of his message.
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
