"But he predicted what happened to Weems," faltered Chichester. "And he says there will be more—much more—enough to ruin Blue Bay for ever if we don't meet his demands——"
"Nuts!" said Kroner bluntly. "Weems just got sick, that's all. Something so rare that most doctors can't spot it, but normal just the same. We can keep it quiet, and have him treated secretly by Grays. That'll stop publicity."
He rapped with heavy, red knuckles on the note which Chichester had laid on the conference table. "This is a fraud, a thin-air idea of some small shot to get money out of us."
He turned to the telephone to call Doctor Grays' suite again for a later report on Weems' condition. The other two bent near to listen.
A breath of air came in the open window. It stirred the note on the table, partially unfolded it.
"... disaster and horror shall be the chief, though uninvited, guests at your opening unless you comply with my request. Mathew Weems shall be only the first if you do not signify by one a. m. whether or not you will meet my demand...."
The note closed as the breeze died, flipped open again so that the signature showed, flipped shut once more.
The signature was: Doctor Satan!