CHAPTER V

THE VANISHING MAN

It still lacked twenty minutes of nine o'clock that night when Harry
Kent turned into the Saratoga apartment hotel, and not waiting to
take one of the elevators, ran up the staircase to the apartment
which had been occupied jointly by Jimmie Turnbull and Philip
Rochester. Kent had already selected the right key from among those
on the bunch he had found in Rochester's desk at the office, and
slipping it into the key-hole of the outer door, he turned the lock
and walked noiselessly inside the dark apartment.

The soft click of the outer door as it swung to was hardly
noticeable, and Kent, pausing only long enough to get his breath
from his run up the staircase, stepped into the living room and
reached for the electric light switch. Instead of encountering the
cold metal of the switch his groping fingers closed over warm flesh.

Startled as he was, Kent retained enough presence of mind to grasp
the hand tightly; the next second a man hurled himself upon him and
he gave back. Furniture in the path of the struggling men was
overturned as they fought in silent desperation. Kent would have
given much for light. He strained his eyes to see his adversary,
but the pitch darkness concealed all but the vaguest outline. As
Kent got his second wind, confidence in his strength returned and he
redoubled his efforts; suddenly his hands shifted their grip and he
swung his adversary backward, pinning him against the wall.