With that, Cranston arose. Seeing that he was about to leave, Margo questioned coyly:
“Where next, Lamont? Back to the Graceland Memorial Library?”
“Of course,” replied Cranston blandly. “I’ve learned a lot there, Margo. That banshee pool, for instance. It used to be called the Bowl.”
“The Bowl? Why?”
“Because it was just a rounded gully with an overhanging ledge called Indian Leap. They dammed it by the bridge so that the stream that ran through would form a pool.”
Remembering how the stream cascaded down below the bridge, Margo could visualize the old Bowl and more.
“Why, the big rock must be the ledge!” she exclaimed. “I can see it now! The banshee slid beneath what was the old ledge and worked around to the nearest gully, the one I stumbled into later!”
“Very good,” approved Cranston. “There’s a great deal to be learned about Central Park. All its natural ravines were not turned into pools. There would have been too many.”
Cranston showed his interest in Central Park after he left the Cobalt Club. Soon he was walking through the transverse where the truck had gobbled Winslow Ames, only to carry him along another leg of his strange disappearance.
Not far along the transverse, Cranston came to a gate. It opened into a narrow path that followed a defile, then rose gradually. Meeting another footpath, Cranston went along it and crossed a burbling stream by a little rustic bridge.