He bade her good-night, words seeming futile after
their long hours together. The drive in the car to the club was
short. Paddy the door man was instructed to send down to
Shirley's own garage for a mechanic to store the car until
further orders. The criminologist had ere this rubbed off his
grease paint, so that his appearance was not unusual. Once in his
rooms he treated himself to a piping hot shower, cleaned off the
powder from his dark locks, and as he smoked a soothing
cigarette, in his bathrobe, studied the mechanism of the
gas generator for a few moments.
"That was made by an expert who understands infernal machines
with a malevolent genius. I must look out for him," he mused.
"Well, I promised Professor MacDonald that I would not sleep
until I had come face to face with the voice. I have fulfilled
the vow: now for forgetfulness."
He tumbled into bed, but not to oblivion. For his dreams were
disturbed by tantalizing visions of certain sun-gold locks and
blue eyes not at all in their simple connection with the business
end of the Van Cleft mystery.
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