Then, gradually, the blonde’s memory seemed to return.
“I - I was dizzy,” she stammered. “I must have gone out for some air. Nice of you - thanks a lot - for the drive through the park. I - I feel a lot better already.”
The carriage hauled up in front of a hotel that bore the name Plaza Central. With a smile, Arlene alighted, scarcely needing Phil’s steadying hand.
“This is where I live,” said Arlene with a smile. “Good-night. I shall see you again, I’m sure.”
The victoria was on the move again, its horse acting as though the swank line of hotels were a regular milk route. The next in order happened to be the Sans Souci, so Phil stepped to the sidewalk when the carriage stopped. Before Phil could question the driver, even on the point if anything was owing for the trip, the fellow flicked the horse with his whip and the hack continued on its way.
People strolling along Central Park South saw Phil Harley staring dumbly across the thoroughfare as though he expected Central Park to speak for itself and explain the enigmas that it harbored.
CHAPTER X
THE newspapers were loaded with a story of a man named Winslow Ames who had disappeared most peculiarly and Lamont Cranston was reading all about it, much to the annoyance of Margo Lane, who had other things to talk about. At last Lamont laid the newspaper aside.
“It’s time you apologized for last night,” broached Margo. “I thought we were going to a night-club. Instead, you left me parked at Farnsworth’s.”
“Sorry, Margo,” Cranston returned. “I was detained longer than I anticipated.”