When nothing happened for several minutes, Tremaine decided it was time to go. He did not know why the Master's curse had spared him, although he recalled something Ziminski had said to the Mad Russian: The man values his art more than his life. If that's not a quality worth admiring, I don't know what is. Tremaine thought perhaps that might be the reason but he supposed he'd never know for sure. He pushed himself to his feet, stumbled, righted himself, and staggered toward the door. The Master's eyes remained fixed on the empty vault, and what his pupil had painted there. They did not follow
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