It was the man who had passed Harry Vincent near the desk in the lobby. Harry had not noticed him there, but the encounter here on the seventh floor had placed him on guard.
Harry wondered if the stranger had actually made a mistake about the floor. He doubted it. He waited for a minute; then, after a quick glance down Warfield's corridor, he went back to his room. He left the door ajar.
Harry intended to stay in his room only a few minutes. He sensed that the unexpected was due to happen. His experience as an agent of The Shadow had given him a keen and perceptive sense that quickened when danger approached.
He glanced idly from his window and his eyes centered upon an electric sign atop a nearby building.
Above it ran a row of unflinching yellow lights. One of these was out. As Harry noticed it, the light suddenly turned on, but the bulb to the right became extinguished.
That was curious. Harry watched. The bulb lighted again; the next one went out. Harry pulled his watch from his pocket and noted the second hand.
As the hand completed its course about its tiny dial, he looked up again. Simultaneously, the dead light shifted one more bulb to the right.
Harry pocketed his watch.
For some unknown purpose, those lights were telling off the minutes! He counted the row as carefully as he could. There were thirty bulbs. The seventh one was out; as Harry still watched, it changed to the eighth. Twenty-two minutes to go! Twenty-two minutes—
A sudden realization of danger gripped Harry's mind. He turned toward the door, but he was an instant too late. A man had entered noiselessly. Before Harry could raise his arms in defense, his antagonist was upon him.
In a fleeting moment, Harry recognized the face of the man he had encountered in the passage by the elevators. Then an arm pressed his throat in a stranglehold. Harry collapsed upon the floor.
The hard-faced man went to the door and closed it. He came back and drew a small packet from his pocket. From it he spilled a bit of powder into a glass and filled the glass with water.
He lifted Harry's body and placed it on the bed. He stroked the unconscious man's forehead and lifted his eyelids upward. Harry began to blink.
With expert precision, the stranger poured the glass of water down Harry's throat. Harry gulped and made no resistance. His head fell back upon the pillows.
The actions had taken place in an amazingly short space of time. The stranger glanced out the window.
The eleventh light was now extinguished. He listened intently. Harry was breathing slowly and regularly.
The telephone rang, and ceased. The stranger smiled again. The operator had evidently reported that Mr. Vincent did not answer. The man looked from the window. The eighteenth light from the left was now dark.
For the first time, the stranger spoke — and then only in an undertone. His voice carried a note of satisfaction; it came evenly from lips that did not move.
"Twelve minutes more," the stranger said. "Twelve minutes — and then—"
He did not complete the sentence. Once more he was staring from the window. The nineteenth light went out. One minute more had passed.
The watching eyes turned to the wing of the hotel that lay across the courtyard. They were the eyes of the hunter. They seemed to see through the mass of steel and masonry, visualizing the room where a hunted man lay hiding!
CHAPTER VIII. SHOTS IN THE DARK
THE elevator stopped at the seventh floor of the Goliath Hotel. A tall man stepped from it and glanced toward the wing where Harry Vincent's room was located.
Then he turned in the opposite direction. He went down the long corridor and stopped outside room No. 738.
The man rapped lightly on the door. He heard a slight sound from within.
"Warfield," whispered the man.
His tone was piercing. It echoed after he had spoken. Despite its low sound, it carried an authoritative note and with it a tone of reassurance.
"This is Arnaud. Henry Arnaud. I must see you!"
The door opened suddenly. The man stepped in. Perry Warfield was standing in his shirt sleeves. He gasped in relief as he recognized his visitor.
Arnaud looked at him steadily, as though surprised by the fear which was inscribed on Warfield's sallow face.
Arnaud came forward and sat down.
"What's the trouble, Warfield?"
The sallow-faced man hesitated. Then, he, in turn, responded with an inquiry.
"Why have you come here?" he asked.
"Because I know you are in danger! I have come to learn why!"
Warfield shook his head.
"You can't help me, Arnaud," he said. "I'm through! That's all! I had a hunch it was coming. Everything stopped — all at once — the day before I met you in Child's office.
"I don't know how or why I realized it; but that morning, I knew my end was due. It was set for me — up there — in that office. I realized it when I read the newspapers that afternoon.
"It was just an accident that saved me — just an accident—"
"You mean an accident that the bomb did not explode?"
Warfield nodded. "You — you — caused it!"
"Certainly. I knew the bomb was there. I found it before you came in."
"Then you — you are — you are the man I am expecting now — the one who is to—"
"The one who is to kill you? No!"
Perry Warfield sat down in a daze. He rubbed his forehead. He stared at the calm face of Henry Arnaud.
He seemed like a man awakened from a nightmare.
"Tell me why you are to die," said Arnaud.
"I cannot," gasped Warfield. "I am afraid — afraid — because of — because of one—"
"Of whom," came Arnaud's undertone. His piercing eyes were staring into Warfield's. For a moment the hunted man's lips trembled as he began to speak; then he seized his head between his hands.
"No!" he exclaimed. "No! I cannot tell! My only hope is silence!" A sudden, insane sparkle appeared in his eyes and he laughed silently but wildly. "It is a trap! You want me to speak. I know why! You are The Master!"
He grinned as though demented, seeming to gain a feeble triumph in this hopeless accusation. Arnaud's response was totally unexpected.
"I understand now," he said, nodding slowly. "You have told me. The man you fear is the one you call The Master!"
Warfield trembled. Unwittingly he had betrayed his secret. Stark terror swept over his face; then he calmed suddenly. His voice was hoarse with restrained excitement.
"If you are The Master," he said cunningly, "I have betrayed you now. You can do what you will. I have no hope. But if you are not The Master" — he hesitated, then smiled shrewdly — "I can tell you all, without fear. But my time is short. Look — there!"
He pointed out the window, where the changing lights of an electric sign flickered above a building.
"Do you see that line of lights — of yellow lights — with one that is blank? Count those that remain. There are only five! That means five minutes more to live! Watch them. The blank will move to the right — and one minute less will remain—"
Arnaud turned like a flash. Warfield had risen from his chair and was springing upon him. With a quick movement of his left arm, Arnaud sent his antagonist sprawling. Warfield clambered from the floor and took a huddled position in his chair.
"I thought perhaps you were The Master," he said sullenly. "I thought perhaps I could kill you! Before you killed me, you know. It was my only chance! My only chance, you know—" His voice was apologetic.
"Warfield!" Arnaud's voice was low and firm. He drew an automatic from his coat. "You must speak all. If I am The Master of whom you speak, you may consider this a command. If I am not The Master, you need not fear me. I am here to protect you. Do you understand?"