At that same hour — nine o'clock — an airplane took off from the Harrisburg airport. Its lone occupant was a black-cloaked pilot, whose figure was almost invisible at the controls of the fleet monoplane.
The ship's course was eastward, heading directly toward New York. As it roared low over the Pennsylvania countryside, its broad wings glinted in the moonlight, and cast a wide, spreading, moving shadow on the ground below.
CHAPTER XII. VINCENT TAKES ACTION
It was eleven o'clock. For three hours Harry Vincent had been watching from the vacant store across the street from Isaac Coffran's house.
At eight o'clock a man had entered. In accordance with instructions, Vincent had called on the telephone.
A quiet voice had answered him and had received the information.
Harry had made a second report at nine o'clock, and a third at ten. It was time for a fourth call, yet he had nothing new to say — simply that the man who had entered the house had not come out.
Speculation had gripped Harry's mind. He could see Isaac Coffran's house fairly well, for the street was lighted. The place appeared to be impregnable. The iron-shuttered windows formed a veritable fortress.
He imagined that the sides and the rear of the house were similarly protected. He would have supposed that the house was empty had he not seen the man enter.
He was sure that the visitor was Bruce Duncan. He had not had an opportunity to observe the man closely, but he could tell that he was not over thirty years of age, and of more than average height and weight.