Her face was different, younger-looking, less exotic. She wasn't Madame Sin; she was a frightened, puzzled girl.
Keane's brain had slipped back into gear, and into comprehension of what had happened.
"Where do you think you are?" he said gently. "And what is your name?"
"I'm Sylvia Crane," she said. "And I'm in a New York hotel room. At least I was the last I knew, when I opened the door and the man in the red mask came in...."
She buried her face in her hands. "After that—I don't know what happened——"
"Nor do any of us," quavered Gest. "For God's sake, Keane, give us some idea of what has happened here, if you can!"
It was over an hour later when Beatrice and Keane entered the door of his suite. It had taken that long to explain to the people in Doctor Grays' rooms. Even then the explanation had been but partial, and most of it had been frenziedly and stubbornly disbelieved even though proof was there.
Keane's shoulders were bowed a little and his face wore a bitter look. He had thwarted Doctor Satan in his attempt to extort a fortune from the resort. But once more his deadly enemy had got away from him. He had failed.
Beatrice shook her head.