Lamont Cranston, alone, seemed unperturbed. The tall millionaire was standing in a corner, smoking a cigarette. His sharp, piercing eyes were studying the individuals present.
With even greater perspicuity than that of Professor Sheldon, Cranston was classing these persons into two distinctive classifications. He could tell the idealists from the others.
Maurice Traymer arrived rather late; and shortly afterward, Professor Kirby Sheldon put in his appearance. There was a contrast in these arrivals. Traymer, Cranston noted, was nervous and annoyed in manner. When he shook hands with Hargreaves, he exchanged only a few words with the host.
Professor Sheldon, on the contrary, came in with a spirit of friendliness that changed the entire atmosphere of the place. Depositing his hat and cane, he turned to greet his students.
“Traffic has no place in Utopia,” he declared, with a smile. “It caused me an unavoidable delay tonight. It is a long ride in from East Point — and the congestion near the bridges is unendurable.”
The professor did not seem to notice the lack of enthusiasm that clung to the assemblage. Anthony Hargreaves looked about him, hoping that Sheldon’s brightness might dispel some of the gloom. It had done no more, however, than to create a lukewarm effect. Hargreaves hemmed and hawed as he interrupted the professor.
“Er — er — Professor Sheldon” — Hargreaves was apologetic — “I have — er — been wondering about our future lectures, and I thought that it might be best to conclude the series tonight—”
“Tonight?” questioned Sheldon incredulously. “Why tonight?”
“Of course, professor,” explained Hargreaves, “you have heard of the misfortune which has befallen two members of our group—”
“Misfortune?”
“Yes. The kidnaping of Miss Cathcart and Miss Sawyer.”
Professor Sheldon looked about him in astonishment. He scanned the faces of the people closest to him as though seeking to learn which ones were absent.
“Kidnaping?” he questioned.
“Yes,” responded Hargreaves. “In all the newspapers, professor—”
“I have not been consulting the newspapers,” explained Professor Sheldon. “I take a vacation from them while I am at East Point. This is all news to me.”
THE tension broke as Hargreaves and others explained the situation. An expression of pained regret came upon the professor’s face as he heard the details.
All members of the group were close to him, with one exception — Lamont Cranston. Standing near the spot where the hats and other garments were placed, Cranston was quietly noting the contents of a note that he had taken from the band of the professor’s hat.
In that note — now a blank sheet — Cranston had read Harry Vincent’s report of the handkerchief that bore the initials E. C., and Woodruff’s theory that the letters referred to Elbert Cordes. As a faint smile appeared upon Cranston’s lips, the sound of a voice came to his ears.
“Two nights ago,” some one was saying, “Gale Sawyer went out to visit Elise Cathcart—”
The mention of Elise Cathcart coincided with Cranston’s thoughts. A woman’s handkerchief, bearing the initials E. C.! That fitted into the mystery as effectively as did the name of Elbert Cordes!
Lamont Cranston sauntered over to the group. He found that new plans were beginning to progress. The professor had decided that the lecture course should be postponed. At the same time, he felt that the breaking up of the group at this unpropitious time would be a great mistake.
Lamont Cranston smiled as he saw Anthony Hargreaves begin to speak. The millionaire had a suggestion — one which Cranston already knew — and this was a good time for him to make it. He told the company about his projected yachting cruise. His idea met with a murmur of approval.
“Let’s go away a while,” suggested Hargreaves. “All of you are welcome. After a two weeks vacation, we will feel better. Perhaps, by then, the girls will be home.”
“An excellent suggestion, Mr. Hargreaves,” said Maurice Traymer. “You can count on me to be with you.”
This statement was the beginning of an impromptu roll call. One by one, the various persons of the group expressed their willingness to take the trip.
As the assent appeared to be going unanimous, Lamont Cranston noted that Maurice Traymer’s nervousness began to abate. The young society man appeared quite relieved.
“Can you join us, professor?” asked Hargreaves, turning to Professor Kirby Sheldon.
“It would be impossible,” replied the old sociologist. “I have much work to do. I enjoy retirement at East Point. It would be much better if I did not see you people until after you have returned with minds refreshed. Then I shall be able to resume my lecture series.”
“We’re all going, then” — Hargreaves hesitated as he saw Lamont Cranston — “you must pardon me, Mr. Cranston — I forgot to ask you. Of course, you will be with us?”
“I am very sorry,” returned Cranston quietly. “I do not know how I can possibly arrange my plans. No, Hargreaves, I shall not be able to join you on the cruise.”
Hargreaves expressed his disappointment. The members of the group began to scatter, as they talked about the forthcoming cruise. Maurice Traymer seemed at ease for a few moments; then he looked at Cranston with a dubious expression. Cranston was talking with Professor Sheldon.
“Like yourself, professor,” Cranston was saying, “I am a busy man. Yet not too busy to forget Utopian ideals such as you have instituted.”
A pleased expression appeared upon Sheldon’s face. He shook hands warmly with the tall millionaire, and spoke as he bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment.
“You are on the proper side of the line, Mr. Cranston,” observed the professor. “You are a worthy proponent of the true Utopia. When that state exists, you will most certainly be a member of the group that composes it.”
Professor Sheldon turned to answer a question addressed by Hargreaves. Lamont Cranston was apparently watching the pair; in reality, his eyes were noting the face of Maurice Traymer, who was standing near by. Cranston sensed that he had come under the society man’s observation. Traymer again appeared troubled.
SAUNTERING across the room, Cranston suddenly accosted Traymer. He greeted the society man in friendly fashion. Traymer made an effort to appear at ease.
“Sorry I can’t go on that cruise,” said Cranston. “I feel that I would enjoy it immensely. I have many business affairs, Traymer. In fact, right now, I am worried about tomorrow. I dislike going over to my home in New Jersey. I would prefer to stay here in New York for the night.”
“Why don’t you?” asked Traymer suddenly. “I’d be glad to have you stop up at my apartment, Cranston. That would be much better than going to a hotel — or driving home.”
“It would not inconvenience you?”
“Not in the least.”
“I believe that I shall accept the invitation. I have my suitcase with me, because I had just about decided to stay in town. The chauffeur is driving back unless he hears from me at the club within the next hour.”
“Fine, Cranston,” said Traymer warmly. “Excuse me a few minutes while I call my apartment. My man should be there.”
The moment that Traymer was gone, Cranston began to inscribe a note, in his usual secret fashion. The short fountain pen, hidden in the coat pocket, quickly finished its task.
The attendant was back at the hat corner. Cranston walked over and told the man to bring out the suitcase that was beneath the table. While the attendant was thus engaged, Cranston slipped a folded piece of paper into the inner band of Professor Sheldon’s gray hat.