That this was the living image of Iggy he could not doubt. He was blinking his eyes. He was talking to someone; that is, his lips moved, though no sound reached Johnny. That this was no mere moving picture Johnny knew well enough. That Iggy was not in the next room, looking in at him, he knew quite as well. Iggy could never have held the expression of quiet unconcern registered on his face had he known that any honest person, let alone Johnny, was looking upon him. "It's magic!" Johnny exclaimed. At the same instant he knew this was not true. "Where is he?" he exclaimed once again. He leaped for the door. It was locked. It was a massive door. He could not hope to break it down, even should he desire to do so. He raced to the window and threw up the sash. It was a quiet, sunshiny day. There were people passing in the street. To attract their attention would be an easy matter. But did he wish to do this? Had he a right to do so? "You will promise to betray none of our secrets?" the professor had said. He had promised. The outer air cooled his heated brow. Slowly he turned about, retraced his steps, then sank down in his chair. He would watch. That, after all, was what he had been told to do. Perhaps in the end he would learn a great deal, just watching. The hour that followed will stand out in Johnny's mind as a vivid memory as long as Johnny draws a breath. He was looking, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, upon the living image of the one man he most feared and hated, Iggy the Snake. He was watching his every gesture, every movement of his lips and eyes; yet he could not touch him nor speak to him. He could not say to the policeman on the corner, "Officer, this man is a thief and a murderer! Arrest him!" He did not know even where the man was. He might, for all he knew, be in the next room or a mile away. He could only watch. Watch he did, and that which he saw was well worth his hour of waiting. But to wait, powerless to act, to sit there biting his lips, clenching his fists, watching that smiling, grimacing image, that was terrible. For a long time there was only that face. Smiling, talking, bobbing his head, Iggy was beyond doubt telling a very interesting story. Once as he threw back his head his fist came swinging into view. "As if he were showing how he struck me!" Johnny sprang from his chair. Then, reluctantly, he settled back. Well that he did, for a moment later the man in that distorted living picture partially disappeared and a cardboard box came into view. "That's it," Johnny muttered, "that's the box I bought, the very one!" There could be no doubt about that. He could even distinguish the yellow express label. But this was not all, not nearly all. The package disappeared. Iggy's head bent low. Presently he held the metal lamp to view. He was laughing, was Iggy. It was strange, sitting there looking on. That laugh was so real, so uproarious, Johnny felt that he should hear it.