He showed a paper that bore a short series of dots and dashes. Cranston smiled.
"That's an O.K.," he said. He wrote a short reply. "Send this — it will be your last message. You have your car here, haven't you, Burbank?"
"Yes."
"After you've sent the message, come downstairs and bring your car from the garage. You can take Doctor Wells to his home; it will save Stanley another trip. I won't need you any more, Burbank. We'll close the station until the end of the week. Take this letter into town with you; I've already addressed it to Mr. Fellows."
Richards helped the injured man as he tried to push the banked-up pillows from beneath his head.
Lamont Cranston turned on his side and closed his eyes. His recent efforts seemed to have taken all his strength.
"You have done wisely," said the physician quietly. "You need a great deal of rest. Your strength has merely begun to return. I shall count on Richards to see that you do not overexert yourself during the next few days."
The doctor pulled down the shades at the windows. He motioned Richards and Burbank from the room.
At the door he glanced toward the man in the bed. His patient was quiet — possibly asleep, thought the doctor.
One minute after the door had closed, Lamont Cranston sat upright. His body shook with silent laughter.