Traveling Companion

I am the Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak.

And now the Whistler's strange story, traveling companion. Standing in the lobby of the Hotel Continental in Pisa, Italy, With a group of some 20 other tourists, Clara Marshall aged 25, and attractive enough to draw attention anywhere, was smiling quietly to herself and with good reason.

Yes, Clara, for the past eight months you've handled things perfectly, haven't you? Wanted by the Chicago police for your part in a series of minor swindles, you slipped out of town and covered your tracks so successfully they lost all trace of you.

Some weeks later in a Los Angeles bookstore, you casually made the acquaintance of elderly wealthy Harriet Wilson and took full advantage of this chance meeting, didn't you Clara? Yes. Now you're not only her trusted employee, but her secretary and traveling companion on a tour of Europe and waiting on a foggy Italian morning to accompany her on a guided tour of Pisa.

Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but I'm forced to cancel today's tour. Too foggy. Oh! But, God, the streetcars are running. You needn't drive the bus. Sorry, Miss Marshall. It would be impossible to take a group this size through the foggy city on streetcars.

Too dangerous. But we don't plan to come through this city again. Miss Wilson, it's so counted on seeing the leaning tower. Isn't that right, Harry? Well, yes, I had looked forward to it. I don't know.