Cranston had turned to the window.
“The throngs are increasing,” he remarked. “There seem to be a great many people coming toward the theater. I would suggest, Mr. Griscom, that you advise the men in the lobby to be very alert. Saturday afternoon is a time to expect trouble.”
“What is the matter, daddy?” questioned Arline.
“Nothing, dear,” replied Griscom. “I am going down to the theater office. Come along with me. It is nearly three o’clock. The feature picture starts in fifteen minutes.”
As Griscom and his daughter left the office, Cranston spoke to Sherman.
“Shoot,” he said. “There’s a good crowd, now.”
Sherman obeyed in businesslike fashion. He started the mechanism of the camera, which was trained through the open window. His eyes were roving along the street. He did not notice what Lamont Cranston was observing.
Within a few seconds after the camera began to make its record, a short man in a black coat stopped in front of Brantwell’s window and began an idle inspection of the display that was on exhibit. The man’s back was turned toward the street. His face was not visible.
STILL watching the man who had arrived, Cranston went to the telephone on the table near the window. He called a number. It was evidently near by, for the exchange was the same as the one listed on Griscom’s telephone.
“Hello,” said Cranston. “This is Mr. Cranston. Has the man I expected arrived in my office? He’s there now?” He paused an instant, then added: “I don’t follow you… Oh, yes; tell him to wait. I’ll stop over to see him. I’ll be there shortly; after I see Mr. Griscom in the theater lobby.”