Margo shook her head.
“I don’t think it could be done, Lamont. She would have been seen from the bridge.”
“I’m looking up the proof tomorrow,” assured Cranston, “and until then -”
A change came into Cranston’s eyes. Following their direction, Margo saw something that riveted her, then added a freezing touch. From far across the park, at a new angle, there came another set of mysterious blinks, like those of the night before.
At last, Margo laughed.
“That’s carrying it too far, Lamont. Sending our friends to play the blinker just to frighten me.”
“Except it’s not Harry and Cliff,” declared Cranston. “I would know their signals. Besides, they are watching the park itself tonight.” Cranston’s arm steadied Margo and turned her toward the living room. “Stay here” - the words were an undertone - “and talk with Farnsworth. Tell him I want complete details on the business of the treasure. Take them in shorthand.”
As Margo nodded, Cranston left. Farnsworth was still busy on the telephone, his voice came booming from the next room as he argued with his lawyer over the tax exemptions that were legally permissible on money invested in a treasure hunt.
Despite herself, Margo was back at the terrace rail a few minutes later, but she wasn’t looking for the tiny twinkles that still continued. Margo’s eyes were gazing downward toward this subdued sector of Fifth Avenue.
Imagination maybe, but Margo Lane could have sworn that she saw a cloaked figure glide across the avenue and blend into the foliage of Central Park. This time at least, the illusion wasn’t caused by the chance flit of a passing bird.