The Mystery Megapack

walked toward a massive brownstone house that stood in the midst of spacious grounds. Before they reached the uppermost of the steps leading to the house, two windowless doors of solid mahogany swung open. They entered the house and, to Irma’s surprise passed a deeply-bowing Hindu. The great doors closed and the reception hall in which they stood was in almost total darkness.
    A strange feeling of uneasiness stirred Irma. The darkness, the closeness of the incense-filled air, made her apprehensive. Her employer led her to the end of the hall, where a naked oil lamp burned faintly. They came to a doorway whose heavy drapes of crimson velvet were held apart for their passage, then passed into the most magnificent room Irma had ever seen. She was struck with amazement at the strange richness of the furnishings.
    Silhouetted against the soft gray walls was mahogany furniture upholstered in dull reds and golds. A wealth of cushions lay recumbent upon the oriental rug. Bronze statues of rare eastern design showed dim outlines in the subdued light of the room.
    Advancing toward Irma was a remarkable man. He was tall and slender, and moved with a lithe, sinuous grace. His skin was a dark brown and his features sharply defined. A simple robe of white silk covered his body. Slender hands with long, tapering fingers extended beneath the loose sleeves of the robe. A pair of sandals was his only footwear.
    The man advanced until Irma saw his features clearly. His manner was conciliatory, but Irma recoiled in terror from the thick, curling lips and the mad fire of his dark eyes. He surveyed her critically for a moment, paying no heed to her obvious discomfort, then nodded to the lady who had brought Irma to the house.
    “Come, my child, we’ll wait upstairs,” the lady said.
    Hesitantly, Irma followed. She felt in peril from these strange people and resolved to flee when they left the house to re-enter the car. Coming to a door on the upper floor, her employer held it open for Irma to enter. Irma found herself in a small, but artistically furnished bedroom. She heard a sharp click behind her and turned to find herself alone and the door closed.
    She ran to the door. Her worst fears were realized. The door was locked! Irma screamed in terror, and her cries thundered back derisively from the walls. Exhausted after a time, she threw herself on the bed and sobbed. She began to think more clearly. Surely some hue and cry would be raised at her disappearance that would lead to her rescue.
    The hue and cry that was raised for Irma was the casual remark passed in a cheap rooming house some days later from a girl to her roommate: “Before you come in with me, I had a nice little kid here called Irma Rollins. She went out to the country to work. Some millionaire’s joint. Funny she don’t write.
    * * * *
    On the third day of her imprisonment Irma Rollins was on the point of
    complete collapse. She had touched no
    food since her capture. The stifling air of the room, whose only ventilation was through a small, grill-covered opening in the ceiling, and her sobbing, resulted in continual nausea. Food had been brought her regularly, and had as regularly been sent away.
    For the first two days every opening of the room’s heavy door marked a furious struggle in which the desperate girl fought to escape. But invariably she was overpowered and thrust back into the room. The tall and beautiful lady who had brought her to the brownstone house Irma had not seen since her imprisonment. She could hear no sounds of life, either from within the house or from the outside. The room was completely sound proof. And yet, not fifty feet away moved the daily life of a great American city. She told herself that it was all a hideous nightmare—that such a thing as her abduction was an impossibility in an American city, but the grim reality of that steel-walled room was too apparent.
    The sunshine never found its way into her prison, and terrified of the darkness, Irma had burned the electric lights continually. She never slept for longer than a half hour at a time. Occasionally the tall Hindu, whom she had seen in the white robe, visited her, His visits were terrifying experiences for Irma. His lips smiled in an attempt at reassurance, but his dark eyes blazed while he told her that a “signal honor” was being prepared for her. Sometimes he came in the long robe of white silk; at other times he wore conventional clothes.
    By the third day Irma had