Keane only looked at him. And at something in his stare, though the detective did not know him from Adam, he wilted a little.
"Stick out your hands while I handcuff you," he tried to bluster.
Then the manager of the building ran in.
"Did you get him?" he called to the detective. "Was he in here?" He saw the man the detective proposed to handcuff. "Keane! What has happened?"
"Doctor Satan has escaped," said Keane. "That’s what has happened. I had him"—he held his hand out and slowly closed it—"like that! Then these well-intentioned blunderers broke in, and"
His voice broke. His shoulders sagged. He stared at the door through which the red-robed figure had gone. Then his body straightened and his eyes grew calm again—though they were bleak with a weariness going far beyond physical fatigue.
"Gone," he said, more to himself than to anyone in the red-lit room. "But I'll find him again. And next time I’ll fight him in some place where no outside interference can save him."
In Davy Jones's Locker
In Davy Jones's locker there are weird, fantastic things:
There are seven bleaching skeletons, all wearing diamond rings;
Their eyes are weed-filled sockets, and with every passing fin
That sets the seaweed waving, all the skulls appear to grin.
There's an eery group of pirates gathered round a chest of gold,
With their bony fingers clutching at the wealth they cannot hold.
There are jewels worth the ransom of a thousand kings or more.
But they lie around unheeded on old Davy Jones's floor.
There's a drunkard with a bottle that he never will uncork,
Though he clasps it to his bosom till his bones are white as chalk.
There's a devil-fish that's spawning in a million-dollar yacht.
With the owner still aboard her—and he doesn't care a jot.
There's an Emperor hobnobbing with a one-legged buccaneer—
Many strange and eery stories wait to greet the listening ear
When the final day has ended, and the last of Time has sped,
And the trump of doom is sounded and the sea gives up its dead.
