“Dreams, Berkeley,” said Lamont Cranston, spreading his arms in belittlement of his friend’s theory.
No one noticed the grotesque, batlike shadow that appeared when Lamont Cranston’s hands hovered above the white tablecloth.
CHAPTER XXIII
VINCENT RETURNS TO BROOKDALE
The morning had brought no worries to Harry Vincent, for the simple reason that he slept completely through it. It was after two o’clock when he awoke: He had spent two nights with very little sleep.
The problem of returning to Brookdale had been a troublesome one. There was no convenient means of transportation. A roundabout bus trip had been the only available method.
Then there had been difficulty in finding a car to reach Blair Windsor’s house. Hence it was after six o’clock when Harry arrived there.
He had decided to say nothing of what had actually happened to him. He knew that it would be difficult to explain his absence of sixty hours; but an alibi was the only course.
He was sure that at least one of three people in the house — Quinn, Crull, or Vernon — were in league with the man who had captured him. He must do nothing that would betray this knowledge.
Blair Windsor, standing on the porch, gazed in amazement at Vincent’s arrival.