“Nothing here,” Grover called down. “Strange!”
“Potts,” Doctor Ryder turned his head, half accusingly, “are you a ventriloquist?”
“A——”
“Ventriloquist! Able to throw your voice so that it sounds as if it came from somewhere else than where you are.”
“Are you?” asked Roger suddenly.
The other laughed.
Grover, leaving the lights going, came down, switching on illumination all over the building; while several policemen came from concealment, blinking and staring around uncertainly, the experimenter in the bright light walked over and sat beside Roger.
“Watch me closely,” he half-smiled, but kept his eyes glancing around half fearfully. “I did not dream—it would happen—again—and here!”
He spoke as if to himself.
“No, that is not ventriloquism,” he muttered. “It is some art of the Far East, known to the Lamas of Tibet——”