There, in the darkness, Cranston laughed softly as the car rolled northward. It was the same laugh that the pretended Fritz had uttered in the locker room at headquarters.
LOUIS GLENN’S apartment was deserted. It had been closed since the broker’s death. But tonight, less than an hour after Lamont Cranston had left the Merrimac Club, a light appeared in the empty apartment.
The rays of a tiny torch moved through the vacant rooms. They stopped here and there, and at one spot they rested upon an empty cigarette box.
A black-clad hand lifted the box. It was marked, “Istanbul.” It was identical with the box that had borne the tag, “Business Suit.”
The black thumb was beneath a series of Turkish characters. Eyes in the dark were reading them, as plainly as if they had been inscribed in English. Translated, the words declared:
Certified by the government.
That same statement was on the “Business Suit” cigarette box. It also appeared upon the box that Lamont Cranston had observed at the Merrimac Club.
It was, however, different from the single box that Cardona had labeled with the word, “Tuxedo.” On that one box, the Turkish characters had stated:
These cigarettes are certified.
A soft laugh. The light went out.