She lived up to Reilly’s descriptions, this shimmering, lithe creature from nowhere. In the moonlight, her olive hue could not be distinguished; the glow, coming through her hair, gave it a blonde effect rather than brunette. No ancient goddess, materializing before mortal eyes, could have appeared more amazingly.
The cult crowd weren’t the only ones to be amazed. From the rustic bridge below the pool, Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona were learning first-hand that no Reilly was ever a liar and Officer Reilly was there in person to witness the proof.
“‘Tis the banshee,” confirmed Reilly, “and whatever she is wearing, ‘tis scantier than regulations allow.”
Neither Weston nor Cardona was worrying whether Thara had encased herself in one of the skin-tight bathing suits that used to feature the diving acts at the old Hippodrome. This was a question of banshee or no banshee. If a spirit form, Thara couldn’t be arrested; if mortal, she could have introduced herself in pantalettes and hoop-skirt and still be liable to arrest on a charge of conspiracy to defraud.
The worthies of the law wanted to break up the cult racket in Central Park and then head elsewhere to solve the still unexplained disappearances of Messrs. Ames and Older. Rather hasty, Weston and Cardona, considering that they were to witness an even more remarkable evanishment before their very eyes.
Finishing a tantalizing twirl, the amazing Thara finished a long sweep of her lovely arms, swerved toward the pool and tilted her head forward so that her hair flung downward like a curtain as she doubled her figure to the rock, arriving there gently on her knees. Then, her crouched form performed a somersaulting motion that carried it in a doubled-up tumble down into the pool.
That was what Weston and Cardona saw, with Reilly there as witness. But it was only an illusion of the moonlight. What went across the brink was a loose clump of stone, just Thara’s size, that she had set in motion with her knees and sped with a further shove of her hands.
As the men on the bridge let their eyes follow what they thought was the tumbling form of a humanized banshee, the cult members in the glen were treated to another phase of Thara’s neatly timed disappearance. The girl simply let herself follow into the cavity that the chunk of stone had left; there she twisted sideward and upward, into the shelter of the bush where her cape was hanging. Enveloping herself in the garment with a single motion, Thara stepped into her slippers and was skirting back around the lilacs while she slicked her hair close against her head.
Thara’s trip was shortened by the fact that everybody, Margo and Arlene included, had crowded up to the brink where the Gwrach y Rhibyn had vanished.
Whistles were blaring from the bridge and police were appearing from all angles in response to the call. Weston’s shouts sounded still louder: