The rider in back was thinking. His mind was connecting events and piecing ideas together. Yet he remained totally silent. He seemed lost in the darkness of the car.
The limousine narrowly missed colliding with a truck. The silent passenger did not move. He said nothing to the chauffeur. Stanley grinned as he stared through the windshield.
“Funny,” he muttered. “A couple of weeks ago the boss was nervous when he rode with me. That was just after he came home from a trip. Now look at him! Not a word — and that was a close one, all right.”
The limousine roared through the Holland Tunnel. It whirled along the New Jersey highway at amazing speed.
Stanley had been a racing driver; but it was seldom that he was given opportunity to show his ability. He was at his best to-night.
The man in the back seat of the car opened the package which he carried. It contained various articles — most important were a black cloak, and a broad-brimmed hat. Lamont Cranston inspected them; then he wrapped them up again.
They were at the airport. The millionaire alighted, and stepped into the drizzle. A wind was blowing, but he did not seem to mind it.
“Take the car home, Stanley,” he said.
The chauffeur’s jaw dropped, as he displayed his amazement.
“You — you’re not going up, to-night, sir?”