see the man behind it.
'Do you wish to die?' asked the low voice. 'Or do you wish to live?'
'I wish to live,' Harry replied. His voice seemed mechanical. The words came to his lips without his realizing the action.
'If you wish to live,' said the voice of the man who held the globe, 'you must swear loyalty to The Black Master!'
'I prefer to die,' declared Harry.
'A man who chooses both to live and to die,' came the solemn voice. 'A man who wishes life but who will accept death. Such a man shall receive neither life nor death! That is the verdict of The Black Master!'
Brilliant flashes burst in the crystal globe. Harry's brain throbbed in unison. His eyes were blinded. Then came a violent shock that shook his entire frame - another - and a third.
The room was whirling; his head was bursting. Blackness - brilliant light - blackness - light - blackness -
bursts of blinding flame. All followed in quick succession. A tremendous roaring burst in Harry's ears. He was whirling with the room, faster, faster, faster! Then came the most terrific shock of all, and Harry felt himself falling, down, down, into a hopeless nothingness.
He screamed, but the roaring in his ears drowned the pitiful sound. Then came one mad burst of cataclysmic light and Harry Vincent knew nothing more!
CHAPTER XVI. THE BLACK MASTER STRIKES
HUBERT BANKS pushed his empty glass from the table. It fell to the floor but did not break upon the thick rug.
The gloom of the tapestried living room seemed more pronounced tonight. With the rain had come a killing atmosphere that filled the entire house. The butler entered and picked up the glass from the floor.
'Where is Mr. Vincent?' questioned Banks.
'He has not returned, sir.'
'Tonight, of all nights!' grumbled Hubert Banks. 'I want to talk with him! I must see him! Bring me another drink, Herbert!'
The butler started from the room. He stopped at the top of the steps to answer a ring at the front door.
He came back a few moments later.
'Mr. Barton to see you, sir,' he informed Hubert Banks.
'Stewart Barton? My attorney?'
'Yes, sir.'
'What can he want? Tell him to come in.'
Stewart Barton entered the room. He was an elderly man with solemn, saddened features. He appeared more like a mortician than a legal adviser. He bowed curtly, and when Banks did not rise to greet him, he took a chair opposite the millionaire.
'Well, Barton,' said Banks, 'what brings you mere tonight?'
'I received a call to come here,' replied the attorney. 'It was from your secretary, Mr. Vincent, this afternoon.'
'I didn't tell him to call you.'
'No? I have never met Mr. Vincent, but I took his word that you wished to see me.'
'What did he call you about?'
'He wanted me to remind you that today was the first of June and that the -'
A startling change came over Hubert Banks. His face became the face of a madman. He raised his hands and his half-clenched fingers clawed in empty air.
'The first of June!' he screamed. 'The first of June! Remind me of it!'
The paroxysm passed and the millionaire sank helpless in his chair while Stewart Barton looked at him in startled bewilderment.
There was no question in the attorney's mind. He had not seen Hubert Banks for many months. He had heard statements doubting the millionaire's sanity. He was now prepared to agree with them.
Nevertheless, Barton had business to discuss, and to a man of his methodical type, such interests came first.
'Mr. Banks,' he said, clearing his throat, 'I must tell you that your legal affairs have reached a very serious condition. This is through no fault of ours -'
'Vincent was taking care of them for me,' objected Banks. 'Didn't he tell you that?'
'Mr. Vincent has been in correspondence with us during the past week. As your secretary, he advised us that you would not be ready to discuss your affairs until after the first of June.
'So when I received an urgent call, this afternoon, purporting to be from Mr. Vincent, I came here.'
'What then?' demanded Banks.
'I have been wanting to see you for some time, Mr. Banks. You will recall that you have three important lawsuits pending.'
'Combined, they involve a sum of nearly one million dollars. We had agreed to settle them out of court for a fraction of the amount demanded - less than twenty thousand dollars, all told.'
'Well, why haven't you done it?'
'Because of the papers, Mr. Banks.'
'What papers?'
'The ones that were brought here by Mr. Houghton, which you never returned to our office!'
'I gave them back to him,' exclaimed the millionaire. 'I took them from my safe and sent them back by him, two weeks before he was killed.'
'We do not have them, Mr. Banks. Frankly, we do not believe that Mr. Houghton lost them or disposed of them. He was too reliable a man. His unfortunate death -'
'It served him right!' cried Banks. 'All of them - Houghton - Warfield - and the others! It served them all right! I'm glad they're dead! The next time I meet a cur like one of them, I'll kill him myself!'
The appearance of Graham, the valet, interrupted further threats. Banks sank back in his chair and glared at the servant.
'Mr. Vincent has just called, sir,' declared Graham. 'He said that he would have returned before but it is pouring rain and he cannot obtain a cab.'
'Where is he?' grumbled Banks. 'I want him here, to talk with Barton!'
'He is at an apartment on Ninety-third Street, sir,' answered Graham. 'Shall I summon Chalmers with the coupe?'
'Yes. Do it right away.'
The millionaire sank into silence. He was brooding, angrily fighting a mental conflict. Barton preserved silence. He decided it was best to delay the discussion until the arrival of the millionaire's secretary.
The valet went to the upstairs telephone. He was there for several minutes. No one disturbed him. The butler had returned and was busy bringing Banks another drink.
The lawyer had declined the millionaire's invitation to have a highball. Just as the butler arrived with the glass, the valet reappeared.
'Sorry to disturb you, sir,' he said. 'Mr. Vincent is on the telephone. He says that he is with a Mr.
Clifford Gage, who wishes to speak to you. He says it is very urgent, sir.'
Hubert Banks gulped down his drink. He stumbled as he went up the short flight of steps from the living room. He picked up the telephone in the hallway. The valet was at his side.
'That telephone is out of order, sir,' he said. 'You'll have to use the one upstairs in your room.'
The millionaire threw the instrument on the floor with a grunt of annoyance. He walked unsteadily to the stairway and went up the second floor. He was scarcely out of sight before the front door opened and Chalmers, the chauffeur, entered.
'The car's outside,' he said to the valet.
'Wait a few minutes,' was the reply. 'Mr. Banks is busy.'
