“It’s very funny,” began Phil. “The last time I saw you, Arlene, you were going into a phone booth -”
“That was last night,” the girl interrupted. “Don’t you remember?”
It wasn’t Arlene’s voice and it wasn’t Arlene. Phil’s eyes opened gradually, but widely, as he fixed a slow-motion stare on Thara Lamoyne!
Those dark eyes of Thara’s gave all this an exotic setting that seemed like anywhere except Central Park, but the hoof-beats kept pounding home the fact that Central Park it was. In the passing lights, Thara’s eyes smiled, but the illusion could have come from her lips, which were ever so slightly curved.
Then, imperceptibly, the olive features became solemn.
“This Arlene you speak about,” said Thara. “A blonde, you said she was. It is so strange that she should disappear again.”
Thara’s tone was very sympathetic, although her face floated like something from a dream. That was explainable however by the fact that Thara was wearing a light velvet cape that completely draped her shoulders and had the same attractive gloss as her smooth, severe black hair.
“I guess I was the one who disappeared.” Phil rubbed his head ruefully. “I went into the phone booth. I had a call to make, but I must have been thinking about Arlene. I was looking from the booth, when suddenly she stepped out of sight -”
“Ah, I was right,” put in Thara. “She vanished, pouf! Like before.”
“Maybe she did,” admitted Phil, “but frankly I don’t remember it. Where did I find you?”