MEN with different purposes had crossed paths. Lamont Cranston had passed Hooks Borglund, before the master crook had heard the operator at the telephone. Then, mobsters had followed Borglund’s quick bidding, without Lamont Cranston’s knowledge.
Lamont Cranston had undergone a strange transformation. Hooks Borglund had left the Hotel Pavilion in response to a call from Wheels Bryant. These were matters of great moment to Herbert Carpenter, despite the fact that he did not know of their occurrence.
“I told you. See?”
The voice of one of the private detectives aroused Herbert Carpenter from his reverie. A man dressed in a Tuxedo had entered the room, and was standing in the now open doorway. The fellow had a hardened, bulldozing expression.
“The house dicks,” growled the same private sleuth. “I told you they’d get here before the police.”
A second man had joined the first at the doorway. The pair advanced into the room. Gifford Morton spoke in a dominating tone.
“Wait until the police arrive,” he ordered. “I wish to turn my prisoner over to the law.”
One of the newcomers nodded.
“I told the manager to keep you downstairs until the police arrived,” continued the multimillionaire. “Why were my instructions disobeyed?”
“It’s our job,” growled the first of the two men who had entered. “Whatta ya got on this bozo, anyway?”