“In Central Park?”
“In Central Park.”
Eyeing Cranston as though she didn’t believe him, Margo gave the reason.
“It wasn’t so very long before all those blinks ended,” the girl declared. “Nor was it long after that, when I heard the whistles and the sirens and saw a lot of lights that must have meant police cars because they went so fast. So you couldn’t have been banshee hunting very long” - Margo’s gaze narrowed - “unless perhaps you found the banshee.”
“No banshee,” said Cranston, with the slightest of smiles. “I was checking on the lights. They came from different places.”
Margo nodded.
“I know,” she admitted. “I saw them from Farnsworth’s terrace.”
“Some were messages,” Cranston analyzed, “while others were just signals. Whoever is delegated to send them is working it cutely. One batch from one place; then he goes somewhere else. They must have learned that I sent men to track down the lights, the first night.”
Margo began to realize that Lamont could have been quite busy hunting clues to the lights, without wasting any time around the banshee pool. Besides, there were no reports today of any gorgeous femininity having created a new stir among the lilacs, the night before.
“But how do they get away with it?” queried Margo. “People just can’t go up to the top of apartment buildings and start flashing lights.”