Now the Arab forestalled Harry’s action. He pinned the young man’s arms and held him. Palermo stepped from the Chinese throne.
From the sides of Harry’s chair, he drew curved iron bars. In a few seconds he clamped his prisoner’s wrists and ankles to the chair. Hassan lifted an iron band that was attached to the back of the chair, and fastened Harry’s neck.
“A torture chair,” explained Palermo suavely. “In China, it is used as a pillory. I advise you to remain quiet. Struggling will do you no good.”
Palermo and Hassan pushed the chair to the corner of the room. Harry found himself facing directly toward the tapestry.
“Chong shall see this,” Palermo murmured.
The evil smile appeared as Palermo lifted the top of a taboret and removed a small vial. He held the tiny bottle to Harry’s nostrils. A pungent odor manifested itself. Harry lapsed into unconsciousness.
Palermo uttered a call. The dwarfish Chong appeared. The man in the red robe went to the bronze image and moved it back into the wall. Scarcely had the mechanism closed the panel before the living Chong was in his place.
When Harry Vincent opened his eyes, a moment later, he saw no change in the room. His eyes, as they fell upon the image of Chong, still saw a statue of bronze.
The tapestries moved aside. They revealed a wide but shallow elevator which contained a wheeled stretcher.
Under a white sheet lay the form of Clyde Burke. Only the man’s face, pale as the cloth itself, was visible.
Hassan rolled the stretcher to the center of the room.
Clyde’s eyes were open and staring wide. They turned toward Harry. They seemed to plead, those eyes, as though they could not recognize the helplessness of the other man.
“This, I may state, is a condescension on my part,” remarked Palermo, addressing Harry Vincent. “My experiments are usually conducted in the laboratory. I shall begin here. However, when your turn comes, Hassan and I will move you back to the laboratory.”
While the Arab was attaching a lamp to Burke’s stretcher; Doctor Palermo walked across the room and closed the French doors. He came back and helped Hassan wheel a small motor from the elevator.
The Arab closed the tapestries. Doctor Palermo adjusted the lamp and turned it on, so that it threw a glare upon the white features of Clyde Burke.
Palermo removed his red robe and donned one of yellowish white. The Chinese chamber began to take on the aspect of an operating room.
Harry shuddered. He did not know in which guise Palermo appeared more terrible.
“I might mention one fact,” came Palermo’s voice. “We shall not be disturbed here. So if you have any other friends”—he looked at Harry as he spoke—”do not count on their help.
“I told you once that this was my Gibraltar. I have arranged it so that no elevator can come to this floor.
There is no possible chance of an entry.
“Those lights”—he pointed to a board that was inconspicuous upon the wall—”are now set to notify me of any annoyance. Only when I leave the way open does any person enter here.
“Here we are forty stories above Manhattan. So you may prepare yourself for the same fate that Burke will meet.”
HASSAN brought a case of instruments. Doctor Palermo had discarded the guise of a mandarin for that of a surgeon. He made careful, methodical arrangements that Harry had never before witnessed.
The preparations made Harry tremble. He could only stare in horrified fascination. The motor began to buzz. It purred with a steady rhythm, that made the scene more terrible.
“You are about to witness a most delicate operation,” said Palermo in a cold, heartless tone. “It will be performed on the base of the brain. I shall proceed slowly. It will be several minutes — I hope— before the subject loses consciousness.”
The noise of the motor was maddening. To Harry’s ears it seemed to come from all parts of the room.
His senses were rendered more acute, perhaps, by this terrible drama before him.
He was not thinking of his own doom; he was overwhelmed by his desire to aid his friend. The clamps held Harry as he struggled to free himself from the restraining chair.
Doctor Palermo was oblivious to everything except his intended work. Hassan seemed occupied in watching him. The image of Chong glared steadily, an outlandish figure in this room which had been changed from an Oriental chamber to an improvised laboratory.
Palermo’s right hand was steady as it held a long, thin knife. His left hand turned the head of Clyde Burke as though it were an inanimate object instead of a portion of a living human being.
Clyde’s eyes still held their helpless appeal. The point of the knife rested high on Clyde Burke’s neck.
The throbbing purr that had come to Harry’s ears was dying. Still, the motor was whirling as before. It was a peculiar, unexplainable phenomenon.
Palermo must have suddenly noticed it. He became motionless, standing in the attitude of a listener. A few seconds passed. Palermo inclined his head to proceed.
An instant later he looked up, an expression of profound astonishment upon his features.
THE French doors swung inward with a crash. Out of the black night appeared a tall figure clad in black.
Its arms were spread, and the hanging folds of the cloak appeared like the wings of a huge, monstrous bat.
Bright eyes glittered beneath the encircling hat rim. They were eyes that glowed with unsuppressed rage.
Like some great flying mammal, this being had come from the inky heavens to wreak vengeance upon the white-clad criminal who stood with knife in hand.
The Shadow, master of the darkness, had arrived just in time to stay the hand of the murderer!
CHAPTER XX. PALERMO’S THRUST
THE incredible appearance of The Shadow had thrown Palermo completely off his guard.
The master criminal had fully believed that he had captured The Shadow when Harry Vincent had fallen into his hands. He had taken every precaution necessary to assure the success of his nefarious plans. This denouement had been totally unexpected.
For once he had encountered a situation that completely dismayed him.
The amazement of the evil man was fully reflected in the countenance of his servant, Hassan, the Arab.
To Harry Vincent, the arrival of The Shadow was a godsend. Clyde Burke’s life was saved. Harry thought of his friend before himself.
The helpless man on the operating table was too weak from the effects of drugs to fully appreciate what had happened, but a sudden light that appeared in his listless eyes showed that he partially understood his deliverance.
Only one being in that room preserved a completely unchanged expression. That was the dwarf Chong.
The hideous monster still glared in its statuesque pose. The false image thus escaped the attention of The Shadow. The man who had arrived from the night was centering all his attention upon Palermo.
The Shadow lowered his arms. He drew an automatic and covered Palermo and his servant with the shining muzzle of the revolver.
Reluctantly, the doctor dropped the knife and raised his hands above his head. Hassan was quick to follow suit.
“Move back,” came The Shadow’s whispered command.
He stepped forward as Palermo and Hassan obeyed.
With his free hand, The Shadow manipulated the bars that restrained Harry Vincent. They seemed to break beneath his touch. Only for a second did a tiny steel instrument gleam in the hand that broke the fetters, thus revealing the method that the man of mystery employed.
Harry scrambled from the chair. He needed no instructions. He went to the side of Clyde Burke to cut the straps that bound the helpless man to the operating table.