“A banshee indeed!” The portly lady was indignant. “Banshees are wayward creatures that howl around the walls of Irish castles for any and all to see. In Wales our family spirits are more particular. They manifest themselves in ancient halls or beside sylvan pools.”
“That’s what Madame Mathilda saw!” Sylvia was becoming eager now. “She saw my family spirit materialized beside some forest pool. As a token, the Gwrach y Rhibyn sent this” - Sylvia picked up the sprig of lilac from the floor - “But with it there was a warning.” Pausing, the portly lady pointed stiffly at the dagger. “A warning that might mean death,” Sylvia continued. “No wonder the Gwrach y Rhibyn vanished with a wail!”
Sylvia finished that statement with a shudder and in a moment, most members of the group were quaking too. For from outside the house there came a rising wail that at this instant carried everything unearthly in its hideous cry.
Lamont Cranston wasn’t one who shuddered, but he had to press a reassuring hand upon the shoulder of a scared girl who was standing beside him. She was Margo Lane, who accompanied Cranston on many of his milder adventurers. Margo had thought it a lark to attend a spirit seance, but this one hadn’t proven the mild affair she’d anticipated.
In fact, despite Cranston’s steadying clasp, Margo would have let out a wild scream of her own, if she hadn’t suddenly recognized what the wail was - a thing which Cranston had caught upon the instant.
Neither human nor supernatural, the howl was purely a mechanical utterance from the siren of a police car wheeling past the house in the direction of Central Park.
Immediately alert, Weston and Cardona exchanged glances that were promptly answered by the jangle of the telephone. Cardona took the call in official fashion; then hung up and turned to Weston.
“Headquarters,” stated Cardona. “They knew you were here, commissioner. That’s why they called. All available patrol cars have been ordered to Central Park.”
Staring a moment, Weston demanded:
“A murder?”