“Yes; and he must pass within a few feet of us. I have seen him go by here — at least nine times.”
Harry’s intent mind had assumed a semi-hypnotic state. The only words that he seemed to hear were those that were emphasized. There were no more stressed words. The rest of the story came to its termination.
“Watch for dark man — five feet nine.”
That was the message that flashed through Harry’s brain.
There were two such men here at the table. The description suited Perry Quinn better than it did Bert Crull. Both were the same height. Both were dark-complexioned, but Quinn’s hair was almost jet black, in contrast to Crull’s deep brown.
The voice of the announcer came from the radio. It was a sinister voice, that spoke in a weird whisper.
It was a voice that startled Harry; for it seemed familiar.
He listed to its tones — not to the words. The voice ceased. An uncanny laugh followed.
As the mocking tones reached their whispered crescendo, Perry Quinn leaped to his feet, and turned off the radio. His face seemed hard, as he came back to the table, to be greeted by puzzled looks.
“What’s the matter?” questioned Blair Windsor.