In the dim light of the little explosions we could catch a glimpse
of the person who had been craftily working with the dread drug to
drive Whitney and others insane. But the face was masked!
He banged shut the door after him and fled down the hall, making a
turn to a flight of steps.
We followed, and at the steps paused a moment. "You go up,
Walter," shouted Kennedy. "I'll go down."
It was fifteen minutes later before we met downstairs, neither of
us with a trace of the intruder. He seemed to have vanished like
smoke.
"Must have had a room, like ourselves," remarked Craig somewhat
chagrined at the outcome of his scheme. "And if he was clever
enough to have a room, he is clever enough to have a disguise that
would fool the elevator boys for a minute. No, he has gone. But
I'll wager he won't try any more substitutions of stramonium-
poisoned cigarettes for a while. It was too close to be
comfortable."
We were baffled again, and this time by a mysterious masked man.
Could it be the same whom we heard over the vocaphone addressed as
"Doc"? Perhaps it was, but that gave us no hint as to his
identity. He seemed just as far away as ever.
We waited around the elevators for some time, but nothing
happened.
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