CHAPTER III
THE HYPNOTIC FIASCO
I
WHILST Professor Conti was building elaborate castles in the air, Bindle with tense caution crept down the three flights of stairs that led to the street.
Everything was quiet and dark. As he softly closed the outer door behind him he heard a clock striking three. Swiftly he removed the bandages that swathed his head, tucked them in his pockets and stepped out briskly.
He wanted to think, but above all he wanted food and drink.
As a precaution against the attentions of the police he began to whistle loudly. None, he argued, would suspect of being a burglar a man who was whistling at the stretch of his power. Once he stopped dead and laughed.
"Joe Bindle," he remarked, "you been burglin', and you're mesmerised, an' you're goin' to give yerself up to the police, an' don't you forget it, as it might 'urt the Professor's feelings."
He slapped his knee, laughed again, recommenced whistling, and continued on his way.
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