Harry paused, with the untorn sheet in his hands.
There was only one explanation. This message, found in the cab as specified, was not actually one of the regular series. That might explain its lack of identifying marks. Nevertheless, it was not consistent with The Shadow's usual procedure. The matter was difficult to understand. Harry thought of the delayed letter which he had received. There was a possibility that something might be wrong. Still, this had never been anticipated.
A missing letter would be explainable; but fraudulent letters in The Shadow's own code, with the mysterious ink that disappeared, were something that Harry did not believe to be within the realm of probability.
Harry knew that time had become important. It would be a great mistake for him to question The Shadow's instructions at a time like this.
The cab stopped at a corner. The rain beat a tattoo on the top of the closed vehicle.
"Here we are, sir," said the driver.
"Wait a minute," replied Harry.
He took his pen from his pocket and, using the sheet of paper that was in his hand, he inscribed a short note under the dim glow of the dome light. It was a simple repetition of the instructions that he had received, telling his destination exactly as it had been given to him.
Harry folded the note quickly. He thrust it back in the envelope which lay beside him. The flap had been loose when Harry had found it. He sealed the envelope.
He looked at the identification card that bore a photograph of the taxi driver. He studied the man's face through the opening that led to the front seat. The photograph and the features corresponded.
"Where are you from?" Harry asked.
"Green Taxi Company, sir."
"You say this cab is paid for? By whom?"
"It's paid for, all right. I don't know who paid for it. Some guy gave me five dollars. Told me to wait for Mr. Vincent. Do whatever he told me up to five dollars' worth. That's all I know about it."
"All right," Harry said. "Deliver this note for me." He gave the address of the drug store near the home of Hubert Banks. "Give it to the clerk at the prescription counter.
"He's a quiet-looking fellow about thirty-five years old. Tell him it's a prescription to be filled for Mr. Vincent. Do it right away. You understand?"
"O.K., sir," said the driver.
Harry handed the man a dollar. He left the cab and pulled his coat closely about him as he stepped into the deluge of rain. The cab drew away.
Harry counted the houses as he went along the street. Just past the third house he discovered an alley.
He followed it and found the door on the right. It was the side entrance of a house. He tapped lightly.
The door opened. Harry entered.
He found himself at the foot of a dimly lighted flight of steps. Ascending, Harry was confronted by a closed door. It opened and Harry found himself on the threshold of a dimly lighted room draped with black curtains.
He hesitated for a moment; then stepped forward. The room was deserted — there was nothing there but the sable draperies and a dark, blackish carpet that covered the entire floor.
Harry turned at a slight sound. The door had closed behind him!
It was then that he became impressed by the lighting of the room. The illumination had changed, almost imperceptibly. It had become a shimmering blue and, as Harry gazed at his hand, he noted that it bore a bluish tint.
Suspecting a trap, he reached beneath the coat that he was wearing and let his hand rest upon the butt of a revolver. Staring straight ahead, he detected a movement in the curtain at the end of the room.
Materializing from nowhere, a black form came into view, with a face above it. The features were only a blur in the strange light.
"Who are you?" demanded Harry.
A chuckle came from the dim black form.
Acting upon quick impulse, Harry drew the revolver from his pocket. Instantly the lights flickered.
Simultaneously, a sudden shock passed through Harry's body. He staggered and the revolver fell from his numbed fingers. He lost his balance and dropped to the floor.
The stinging sensation of the electric shock ceased, but Harry felt totally helpless. He had only sufficient strength to raise himself to a sitting position. His revolver lay a few feet away. He did not dare to reach for it.
"Harry Vincent," came a voice that spoke in a weird monotone, "you have come into the presence of The Black Master. You are here for a purpose. You are to answer every question that I ask you. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded. He was still too stunned to speak.
"Who is this man you call The Shadow?" came the voice.
Harry did not answer.
"Are you prepared to obey my wishes?"
"No," replied Harry hoarsely.
There was a motion in the darkness. A form emerged, as though a portion of the curtain had become a living being. A black cloth dropped to the floor.
Harry found himself staring into a huge ball of glass, within which flashed sparks of live electricity. The globe was fascinating. It held his gaze. It came closer and closer until it was dazzling, right before his eyes. He could not 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.