Bob had fallen heavily and for a moment he remained motionless on the floor listening for the sound of someone moving along the corridor. He could have shouted for the guard, but an inward distrust of the man kept him from doing that. Instead, he groped around for the flashlight, turned it on, and got to his feet, considerably shaken in mind and body by the experiences of the last few minutes.
The young clerk reached for the light switch and a glare of light flooded the room, revealing even further the destruction which had been wrought there.
Bob looked around. Hundreds of papers had been strewn on the floor; some of them had been ruthlessly destroyed and he wondered how many valuable documents would be lost when they finally checked up.
But this was no time for inaction, he decided, and he hastened to one of the desks and picked up a telephone. He dialed quickly, but it was nearly a minute before a sleepy voice answered.
“Hello, Uncle Merritt?” asked Bob anxiously.
“No, I’m not home; I’m still at the building. I wish you’d get down here as soon as you can.
“No, I haven’t had an accident, but some mighty strange things have been going on around this floor tonight. One of the offices has been completely ransacked. I’m in it now. Papers have been thrown all over and the filing cases opened and a lot of stuff destroyed.
“Who did it? Gosh, I wish I knew. Someone’s been shutting doors on me and leaving steel wedges in them. It’s giving me the creeps.”
“I’ll be right down,” promised the Department of Justice agent.
Bob placed the receiver back on its hook and backed out of the room. The fewer things he touched the better it would be and as he drew the door shut, he was careful to keep his hands off the knob for there was a possibility of valuable fingerprints being there.
An eerie feeling raced up and down Bob’s spine as he turned toward the door which opened into the office where he worked. The building was so quiet it was disturbing, yet he knew some unknown marauder had been busy on the floor while he had been bent over his desk. Could the unknown be after the radio secrets his uncle had hinted about? It was certainly worth considering.
Bob reached the door that led into the office where he worked and stopped suddenly. He felt cold all over as he stared at the doorknob. He remembered distinctly having wrapped his own handkerchief around the knob to preserve possible fingerprints. But there was no handkerchief there now and the door was slightly ajar. The light had been on when he stepped into the hall, but now the room was in inky darkness.
Bob paused on the threshold of the long office, staring into the blackness of the room. After his recent experiences he couldn’t be blamed for hesitating a moment.
Should he close the door, back into the hall and await his uncle’s arrival or should he snap on the lights and see what had taken place in the room? It seemed to Bob that he pondered those questions for several minutes; actually it was less than five seconds.
He reached for the light switch at the left of the doorway and pushed the button. But there was no answering blaze of light; only the dead click of the switch.
Bob knew then that the lights had been tampered with, that more than likely someone was lurking in the shadowy darkness of the office. His better judgment told him to wait until he could summon assistance, but some other urge drove him on. He couldn’t explain it later; he simply went ahead.
The young filing clerk stepped across the threshold, the flashlight in his hand aimed down the center of the room. Then he turned on the flash and a beam of light cut through the darkness.
Bob gasped. The light showed papers strewn over the floor and the drawers from desks and filing cases pulled indiscriminately out and dumped on the floor.
The shock of the confusion in the office brought him up short. Then he started to swing the light about the room to determine the full extent of the damage by the marauder.
A slight noise to the right caught Bob’s attention and he turned in that direction. Instinctively he knew that danger lurked there, and he tensed his body. It came before he was ready; something hurtling out of the dark; something that struck his right hand a numbing blow; something that sent the flashlight crashing to the floor where the lens and the bulb shattered and the light went out.
But the blow sent Bob into action. He must get back to the door and get it closed; that would cut off the one avenue of escape for the intruder.
The clerk leaped backward, his hands reaching out for the doorway. He collided with someone else; someone wearing a topcoat still damp from the rain outside.
Bob thought quickly. He must find some way to stop the other if for only an instant. He drew back his right foot and swift kick connected with the unknown’s shins with such force that an involuntary cry rang through the room. Bob leaped on and crashed into the half opened door. With anxious fingers he found the key on the inside, slammed the door shut and turned the lock.
That done Bob dropped down on the floor where he would have a chance to rest, to collect his wits, and to plan his future course of action.
For a time there was no sound in the room. He could not even catch the breathing of the other man and he thought of the possibility that the other had slipped out the door before he had closed it. Then he dismissed that as an impossibility for there had not been sufficient time for that.
Bob knew every inch of the long office; knew where every desk and chair was located and every window. As his eyes became more accustomed to the dark he could pick out the lighter blots which were the windows.
Then a slight noise caught his attention. The unknown was moving, probably on his hands and knees, feeling his way toward the door. Bob couldn’t resist a chuckle as he thought of the dismay that would spread through the other when he found the door securely locked and the key missing.
Just to be on the safe side, Bob edged away from the door and sought shelter behind a nearby desk. To make sure that he would move noiselessly he slipped off his shoes and placed them beside a filing cabinet where he wouldn’t fall over them if it was necessary for him to make a sudden move.
Strangely enough Bob felt very calm. His heart beat rapidly and his breath came shorter and faster, but his mind was remarkably clear, his hands steady. He was glad now that he did not have the flashlight, for using it would only have made him a target for the marauder.
Bob wondered how long it would take his uncle to reach the scene. Probably another ten minutes, for Merritt Hughes lived a considerable distance from the building. What might happen inside that room in the next ten minutes was something that Bob didn’t care to guess about.
As Bob listened he could hear the almost noiseless movements of the other man and knew that he was nearing the door. Then he heard hands moving along the woodwork—finally the gentle turning of the doorknob. Then there was the sharp rattle of the knob as though a sudden wave of anger had swept over the man at the realization that he had been trapped in the room.
Bob moved away from the door, crawling on his hands and knees, and he kept going until he was well down the room and right at the steel cabinet where the radio documents were filed. With cautious hands he felt along the front of the case. So far the drawers had not been pulled out for they were identified only by key numbers instead of by the name of the type of papers which they contained.
This was one cabinet Bob was determined to protect, for, after what his uncle had told him earlier in the night, he felt sure that this was the object of the unknown’s visit.
Once more the doorknob was rattled sharply; then silence again shrouded the room and Bob felt his nerves tightening. It was tough waiting alone in the darkness. He wondered if the other man possessed a gun and if he would have the nerve to use it if an emergency caught him.
Bob strained his ears for some sound of the other’s maneuvers. A faint sort of “plop” made him smile. It sounded very much like a shoe being placed gently on the floor. Several seconds later there was a similar sound and Bob knew that they were now on even terms; neither one of them having his shoes on. This man was no fool; he was determined to keep his own movements as secret as possible.
Then Bob heard a sound which was anything but heartening. The unknown was coming toward him. He could hear the gentle scrape of knees as the man crawled along the floor. He was evidently feeling his way along the filing cabinets and Bob moved out toward the center of the room where he found protection between two desks, set fairly close together.
His action was not a minute too soon, for he had barely settled himself in his new position when he saw a darker shadow moving along in front of the filing cases. The man was less than six feet away, and breathing very quietly, but steadily.
Bob held his own breath as the man passed along the row of filing cases. Evidently he was going to make the rounds of the room in an effort to catch Bob by surprise, overpower him, and take away the key. Bob chuckled inwardly at that thought. He was too familiar with the room to be caught in that manner.
Moving out slightly from behind the shelter of the desks, he saw the man reach a window and raise his head so that he could look down on the street. It was a temptation that Bob couldn’t resist and he picked up an inkwell on the desk beside him, took careful aim, and hurled the heavy glass container.
Just as he threw the inkwell, Bob slipped and the noise attracted the attention of the other man. He leaped to his feet and whirled about. The glass container, instead of striking the man’s head, hit his shoulder, glanced into the window and crashed its way on out into the darkness.
There was a cry of pain from the intruder and then a sharp burst of flame as a bullet scarred the top of the desk which shielded Bob.
Bob went cold all over. There was no more fun in this thing. It was deadly serious now and he knew that his very life might depend on the events of the coming minutes for this man was cornered and capable of shooting his way out if necessary.
As the echoes of the shot died in the room, Bob realized that he had been foolish in throwing the inkwell. It had unduly alarmed the other man and placed his own life in jeopardy. The slug from the gun had come much closer than Bob wanted it to.
There was only one consolation. The shot should attract the attention of the guards on duty in the building and within a minute they should be at the door, battering their way in. Against superior numbers Bob felt that the intruder would not put up a resistance with gun play.
Bob stared at the windows. The head and shoulders of the unknown had disappeared and the distant noises of the street were clearer now, drifting in through the broken window.
Merritt Hughes should arrive at almost any minute and Bob felt that the wise and sensible thing now was to play as safe as possible and await the arrival of help.
Crouched down between the desks, he was in a position to watch the file with the radio documents and he knew that if they were molested he would fight with all his strength to protect them.
As the seconds passed into minutes Bob felt his muscles tensing and his nerves becoming tighter.
There was no sound in the room; there had been no sound since the echoes of the shot had died away. Had his missile disabled the other man; had the shot been fired involuntarily? They were questions he couldn’t answer.
Why didn’t a night guard appear in the corridor outside? Bob believed that he would have risked a call for help if anyone passed. But strain as he might, he could hear no one outside the door.
Then Bob broke into a cold sweat. The man who had fired the shot was almost beside him.
Bob had been so intent upon listening for some sound in the corridor that he had failed to hear the unknown crawling toward his own hiding place.
Bob sensed, rather than saw, what was happening. He could hear the steady breathing of the other and he held his own breath. Would the man crawl on down the room toward the doorway or would he turn in between the desks where Bob had sought shelter?
The dark blob that was the other’s head and shoulders appeared between the desks and Bob waited for an agonizing interval. Then the figure moved on and Bob could breathe once more.
That had been a close call.
Then came another sound that brought Bob back to the alert. There was the faint shrilling of a siren.
Was it a fire alarm? Bob listened intently. No, it was sharper, more penetrating. A police car. That was it!
It was evident that the other man had also heard the night alarm for Bob heard a muffled exclamation. He doubted if it was an alarm turned in by his uncle for his protection, but at least it was enough to alarm the marauder and Bob’s muscles snapped back to steelly tension. He had gone so far now that he had no intention of allowing the other to escape at the last minute.
The steady wail of the siren drew nearer as down on the avenue the speeding machine dashed through traffic lights and skidded past other machines which were pulling over to give it the right of way.
The siren rose to a crescendo and then died to a wail as the police car swayed to a stop somewhere below and Bob knew then that rescue was near. His uncle, feeling the need for quick re-enforcements, had evidently called on the Washington police and commandeered a cruising radio car.
From somewhere out of the darkness came a low, deadly voice.
“Listen, kid, this spot is getting tough. Give me the key to this door or I’m going to turn this gun loose and it will be just too bad if I get you. I’ve got plenty of extra clips and I’m going out of here on my feet. Give me that key!”
Bob knew there was no time to lose for there was a ring of panic in the other’s voice and you never could tell what a panic-stricken man would do.
The desks afforded little protection from a barrage of bullets and Bob quickly edged his way out from behind them and in between two steel filing cases. While these were not intended to be bullet proof, at least they were much better than oak desks.
“Did you hear me?” called the voice from near the doorway. “Give me that key.”
Bob slipped his hands into his pockets, and pulled out a key ring. The key to his own room was somewhat similar to the one that fitted the door of this office. He quickly detached this and tossed it toward the door.
He couldn’t afford to cry out now for he knew the man near the door would shoot. The key fell on the floor and he could hear the frantic efforts of the other to locate it. Then came a gasp of relief from the unknown and Bob heard him fumbling at the keyhole, trying to insert the key and turn it in the lock.
There was a sharp cry from the man at the door.
“You’ve tricked me. Give me the right key. Give it to me!” The voice was nearing a hysterical pitch and Bob smiled grimly.
The man couldn’t stand the dark and the certain knowledge that outside men were speeding toward that very room, men who would shoot first and ask questions afterward.
Bob wondered whether tossing another key would again trick the man at the door.
Before he could decide there was a stab of flame in the blackness and a bullet crashed through the desks where he had been hiding.
“Come on; give me that key!” The voice was hysterical now, a scream that cut through the room and echoed out the shattered window.
Down below another police siren was ebbing as a second car pulled up at the curb and disgorged its load of armed men, who rushed into the building to follow the lead of the first detail.
Bob faintly heard elevator doors clang open. It would be only seconds now until they were at the door, beating their way in.
By this time Bob’s eyes were well accustomed to the darkness and he could distinguish the shadow of the man crouched near the door, listening now to the pounding of the police as they charged up the long corridor.
“Bob, Bob! Where are you?”
It was Merritt Hughes and Bob thrilled at the voice of his uncle. Then dismay filled him for he knew what would happen if they broke down the door and charged into the room for a trapped man is always dangerous.
Fists beat against the door and two ribbons of flame streaked from the gun, the bullets crashing through the door and out into the corridor.
Bob couldn’t help shouting a warning.
“Keep away; he’s desperate!”
The answer to that was another shot into the desks where he had been hiding and Bob knew that the man felt sure he was still hiding there.
There was a sudden silence in the corridor and Bob knew that his uncle and the police were conferring on the best way to break into the room. As he listened he saw the man near the door moving, backing down into the room where Bob was hiding and if he kept on coming he would pass within a foot or less of Bob.
Bob felt his muscles tightening and he breathed deeply. If he could only disable the unknown, it would solve what promised to become a highly dangerous situation.
The man was coming noiselessly, in his stocking feet, his head cocked toward the door where he listened for some further move.
A yard, two feet and now only inches separated them. Bob was ready. His hands shot out and caught the other man in a steelly grasp that choked an involuntary cry from him. At the same time Bob kicked with all of his strength. The blow caught the other man behind the knees and Bob could feel him crumpling.
The gun, which he had feared the most, clattered to the floor and they were on equal terms, ready now to fight hand to hand.
As they fell the other man twisted about and Bob knew that his adversary was no weakling. He could feel the muscles of the other man’s arms tightening and a short, sickening blow that started at the floor caught him on the chin.
Bob was weak all over for a moment, an interval just long enough to give the other a chance to collect his wits. Then Bob was at him again, his arms held in close, his fists raining blows like a trip hammer. They were hard, fierce jabs that would have rocked an ordinary man to sleep in less than ten seconds. He heard the other gasp as a right caught him in the midriff, but he came back for more.
Fighting in the dark was dangerous business. A wild blow might send his hand crashing into a steel case or against a desk and his knuckles might be broken but it was a chance Bob had to take and he slammed away with a will.
Suddenly the man went limp. Bob caught him, fearing a ruse, and shot home one more hard right. Then he knew that the other was out—out cold, and he suddenly went weak himself.
Fists were beating against the door.
“Open up, open up!” It was Merritt Hughes’ voice.
Bob managed a reply.
“Coming,” he called. “Just a minute.”
“You all right?” demanded the federal agent, but Bob was too weak and tired to reply.
Somehow he managed to dig the key out of his pocket and with trembling fingers he found the keyhole, inserted the key and turned the lock. The door burst open to reveal Bob standing on wavering legs, and Merritt Hughes caught him just as he collapsed.
Lights from a whole battery of flashlights seemed to blaze down at Bob and he blinked hard as Merritt Hughes leaned over him.
“Bob, Bob, are you hurt?” demanded the ace federal agent.
Bob managed to shake his head. Just then he was too exhausted even to talk.
As he watched the flashlights swept around the room, revealing its wild disorder. Then the lights focused on the form of a man sprawled out under the nearest desk and Bob caught his breath for the man was in a uniform of one of the night watchmen. So that was the reason why there had been no response to his calls for help; the marauder had been the guard!
Merritt Hughes stepped over to the unconscious form and gazed at the man’s face.
“You certainly landed a haymaker on one eye,” he told Bob. “Know who he is?” Bob managed to sit up where he could glimpse the other man.
“He’s the guard who was on duty tonight,” he said, “but I don’t know his name. He is a new man.”
Merritt Hughes chuckled grimly.
“Well, he’s going to a lot different place. Maybe he’ll be able to remember his name and tell us a few things when he wakes up. Now just what happened here?”
“It’s a long story,” began Bob.
“Then save it until we’re alone later. Was anyone else running around up here tonight except yourself and the guard?”
Bob thought instantly of Tully Ross, then decided to wait and tell his uncle about that when they were alone.
“This fellow was the only intruder,” replied Bob, which was true enough, for Tully belonged to the office staff.
“Take him down to the nearest station and have him fingerprinted and photographed,” the federal agent told the policemen.
The officers leaned down and picked up the man Bob had fought and managed somehow to get him to his feet. Supporting him on their shoulders they walked him down the hall and Bob heard the elevator doors click.
Bob’s uncle tried to turn on the lights in the room, but the switches, though they snapped as usual, failed to send any current into the lights.
“Fuses blown,” Bob heard him mutter.
They were alone now, the police having departed with their prisoner.
“Here’s an extra flashlight, Bob. See if you can find anything missing by making a hurried search around the room,” directed Merritt Hughes.
Bob felt stronger now and he got to his feet. He was still a little unsteady, but the cool, rain washed air, coming in sharp gusts through the window now, cleared his head and he took the flashlight which his uncle offered.
The twin beams of light swept around the room.
“What a mess!” exclaimed the federal agent, as the lights revealed the utter confusion.
“Who’s in charge?” he asked.
“Arthur Jacobs is the filing chief for this room,” replied Bob.
“Then you’d better get him on the telephone and see that he gets down here at once. Explain what’s happened and tell him that you want to check over the files for any possible missing papers.”
Bob looked up the number of the filing chief’s home telephone and dialed. It was some time before a sleepy voice answered and when Bob informed the filing chief who was speaking the voice was sharp and angry.
But when he imparted the news and added that a federal agent was waiting for his arrival and the checkup, the filing chief promised to come down at once.
In the meantime a janitor came up from somewhere below and fixed the fuses so that there was ample light in the long room.
“I can start in checking up on the files now,” said Bob, but his uncle held out his hand.
“I don’t want a thing touched until the filing chief is here,” he explained. “Then, if something important is missing, you’ll have a clean bill of health.”
“But I’m sure that nothing important has come through lately,” said Bob. “Of course we don’t know definitely when important records are being filed, but we usually have a pretty good hunch.”
“Then here’s hoping that your hunch has been right,” replied his uncle.
Bob told him about the condition of the other room down the hall and they went there and examined it at some length, finally deciding to lock and seal the door until morning when a more thorough inspection could be made.
By the time they were back in the room where Bob worked, the elevator doors clanged open and they could hear impatient footsteps hurrying toward them.
Arthur Jacobs, short, heavy and round-faced, fairly popped through the door. His blue eyes went wide as he saw the litter of papers in the room and Bob felt sorry for the filing chief for Jacobs had a splendid record of efficiency.
“What under the sun happened?” demanded Jacobs. “I’m afraid I was so sleepy I was sharp with you over the phone,” he told Bob.
“I guess I would have been a little provoked at being routed out at this time of night,” admitted Bob. “I guess my uncle can tell you better than I can.”
Arthur Jacobs, after glancing again at the wild confusion of papers on the floor, faced the federal agent.
Merritt Hughes described the events of the night briefly and Bob saw the filing chief casting anxious glances toward one of the steel cabinets. His own heart missed a beat or two for the cabinet that appeared to be worrying the filing chief was the one in which the newest radio documents were kept. It was here that any papers relating to new discoveries in this field would be placed.
But Bob managed to reassure himself. He was convinced that only the man he had caught could have been in the room and there had been no way for him to get rid of any papers which he might have stolen from the file.
Then Arthur Jacobs interrupted the federal agent.
“Just a minute. Some important papers came through late this afternoon and I placed them in one of the files myself. I want to be sure that they’re here.”
The filing chief stepped to the radio filing cabinet and skimmed through the papers with expert fingers.
Bob saw the frown of anxiety deepen on the filing chief’s face as his fingers sorted the documents expertly. Jacobs shook his head and then bent down and scanned each document on the floor in front of the case.
“Anything important missing?” asked Merritt Hughes.
Jacobs didn’t answer at once, and when he finally looked up, Bob read the answer in his face.
“Yes,” said the filing chief in a voice so low that it carried only a few feet, “the papers which came over this afternoon have vanished.”
Bob and his uncle stared at Arthur Jacobs with unbelieving eyes, and the filing chief saw their doubt.
“The papers are gone—gone I tell you.” His voice rose almost to a frenzy for this was the first time that such a thing had occurred in his usually well ordered and carefully routined department, and he had visions of losing his job.
“Yes, yes, we heard you,” replied Merritt Hughes. “But perhaps you missed them in going through the file. Let’s go through together.”
“It won’t do any good,” said Jacobs in a flat and hopeless voice. “I know this file from A to Z and the papers that came in this afternoon are not here.”
The federal agent paused and looked hard at the filing chief.
“You say they were important papers?”
Jacobs nodded. “They were so important that I refused to trust them to anyone else.”
“You’re sure no one in the department knew these papers were coming through?” insisted the federal agent.
“I can’t be sure,” replied the filing chief, “for there has been talk drifting around the last few days about some important radio discoveries that have been made by the army engineers. But I am sure that no one knew the exact time these papers came over.”
“Was it a complete file on the new discoveries?” asked Merritt Hughes anxiously.
“I don’t know, but from the usual procedure, I would say that it was only a partial file. Just as a precautionary step they usually send the records of new formulas, and developments over in several sections so that it would be almost impossible to take one section and know what it was all about.”
“But you’re not sure about this special file?”
“No, except that it was small; a single sheet of paper in a sturdy manila envelope.”
“We’d better go through everything in the room,” decided Bob’s uncle, and they got down on their hands and knees and started rummaging through the litter of papers.
It would take days to place these back in their proper sequences and Bob felt sorry for Jacobs.
They finished one side of the room and started down another. There was no sign of the missing envelope and Bob’s uncle phoned the precinct police station to learn if such an envelope had been found on the prisoner.
“Search him again,” he instructed the police when they informed him that no envelope or papers of any description had been found.
Bob looked toward the half opened window.
“Do you think it would have been possible for him to toss that paper out the window and have it picked up by someone on the ground?” he asked.
Merritt Hughes went to the window and looked down. It was better than a hundred feet to the ground and the sharpness of the wind had not lessened. He shook his head.
“I don’t think that happened,” he said. “It would have been too risky. Either that paper is still in this room or it was taken out by that fellow when he left.”
“But the police haven’t found anything,” protested Bob.
“Sometimes even the police slip up when they run into an especially clever crook and this man had to be clever to get in here in a guard’s uniform and stand night duty.”
Their search of the room neared an end and Arthur Jacobs looked even more downcast.
“I knew it was missing when I failed to find it in the file,” he groaned. “This is where I lose my reputation.”
“Don’t worry about that. We’ve got to find this paper first,” said Merritt Hughes. “Go through the file once more.”
With the federal agent on one side and Bob on the other, the filing chief examined every paper in the cabinet, but without success.
Merritt Hughes turned on his nephew.
“You’re sure that you were the only one in this office until this fellow got in?” he asked Bob.
Bob hesitated, wondering whether he dared implicate Tully Ross by mentioning his name. But Tully had been there and the disappearance of the radio document was too important to let anything like that interfere, he decided.
“Well, Tully Ross dropped in for a few minutes,” said Bob.
“Why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?” asked the federal agent, and Bob felt the color in his cheeks mounting at the rebuke which was implied by his uncle’s words.
Arthur Jacobs wheeled around sharply, at the exchange between uncle and nephew.
“What was Ross doing here at night?” demanded the filing chief.
“I guess he just dropped in; saw the lights burning up here and wondered what was going on,” replied Bob.
“Did he touch anything, work on anything?” There was a desperate note of anxiety in the filing chief’s voice and Bob knew that Jacobs was thinking only of the reputation of his department rather than linking Tully to the events of the night.
“No, he only offered to help me, but I told him I was getting along all right,” said Bob.
“Did he ask you about any of the papers you were filing?” pressed the federal agent.
“Well, not exactly, but he did mention something about the radio secrets. That’s been more or less common knowledge in the department that something big was breaking and we have all been curious about it.”
“Did Tully touch this file or go into it?” demanded the filing chief.
Bob hesitated. Tully had looked into the file, but he hadn’t removed anything Bob was sure.
“Well, did he touch anything?” pressed Jacobs.
“He did open this file,” admitted Bob, “but I looked up just then and I am sure that he didn’t remove anything. In fact, I don’t think he touched anything inside the file.”
“Why did he open the file?” asked Merritt Hughes.
“Well, he mentioned something about wanting to see the way I kept my files. I guess he said he had heard Mr. Jacobs say he liked the way I handled them.”
Jacobs smiled for it was no secret with him that Bob was his star assistant, while Tully was probably the poorest of the clerks who worked in the filing room.
“You’re sure Tully didn’t take anything out?” insisted his uncle.
“I can’t be positive,” said Bob, “but I don’t believe anything was removed by him.”
Merritt Hughes was silent for a minute. When he spoke again he addressed his words to Bob.
“Get Tully on the telephone and tell him to dress and get down here right away.”
From the tone of his voice, Bob knew that it would be useless to say anything more in defense of the other clerk and he went to the telephone and dialed Tully’s apartment number. It was two o’clock now and an unearthly hour to rout anyone out of bed, so Bob prepared himself for a long wait at the telephone. He was not disappointed for it was at least three minutes before a sleepy voice answered and Bob recognized it as that of Tully.
When he explained that the other clerk must come down at once, there were sleepy protests and Bob’s uncle, provoked at Tully’s attitude, took the phone.
“Tully, this is Merritt Hughes. There’s been trouble in this office tonight. You are one of two outsiders who were in here. If you know what’s good for you, get down here at once and don’t argue.”
With that he hung up the receiver without giving Tully an opportunity to answer.
“I think he’ll be down without losing any time,” he said, and Bob was ready to agree.
Tully lived some distance from the office. Bob knew that it would be nearly half an hour before he could arrive.
“Let me have a flashlight,” he said to his uncle, “and I’ll go down on the ground floor and see if there is any chance that paper was thrown from the window.”
Merritt Hughes nodded his agreement and handed a light to Bob.
“I’ll go along,” said Arthur Jacobs. “I can’t stay up here and do nothing.”
The filing chief was visibly shaken and Bob was glad enough to have companionship for there would be no fun in prowling through the shrubbery at the base of the building at that hour of the night.
They walked down the corridor together and turned and faced the elevator entrance. The cage came up in answer to their summons and they dropped swiftly toward the first floor.
“Find out yet what happened to the regular guard on our floor?” Bob asked the elevator operator.
“They’ve checked his home, but he left there right on time. It’s a cinch he never reached here, though. This building has been searched from top to bottom and there’s no sign of him.”
When they stepped out on the main floor there was evidence of suppressed activity for several guards, flashlights in their hands, hurried past them.
“They’re even searching the closets,” volunteered the elevator operator, “for the fellow who was caught up on your floor was wearing the guard’s uniform.”
Bob whistled softly. This was getting more serious every minute. He wondered about phoning the news upstairs to his uncle. But he decided against that. They would soon return to the upper floor and he could tell him then.
The night was as blustery as ever and Bob drew his topcoat close as the first gust of wind and rain swept down on them. The flashlights threw feeble glows ahead of them as they floundered through the shrubbery which flanked the base of the building.
“Ouch!” cried the filing chief as a piece of shrubbery snapped into his face and Bob turned to help him.
“Go on; I’m all right,” said Jacobs and they pushed ahead, Bob in the lead.
Back and forth they beat their way through the shrubbery, their lights held close to the ground. Time after time they stopped to pick up a sheet of paper in the faint hope that it might be the missing radio document they were seeking so anxiously.
Now they were directly under the windows of the office. Bob, looking up, could see the glow of lights from the windows. Here they were doubly careful to make a thorough search and Arthur Jacobs went over every inch of the ground with his own light, stooping to be sure that no scrap of paper went unobserved.
The quest looked hopeless and Bob stood up to ease his aching back.
“Guess we might as well give up,” he said. “Tully will be here in a few minutes and we’ll want to be back upstairs when he arrives.”
“There’s just a chance the paper might have been blown around the corner,” said the filing chief, who was determined to cling to even the most slender hope.
“Well, there’s a chance, but it’s a mighty slim one. We’ll have a try, though,” agreed Bob.
The rain was even sharper as they turned to the corner of the building and the lights attempted to pierce the blackness of the hour.
For five minutes they crawled back and forth underneath the shrubbery. Bob was chilled now and a trickle of water, coming off his hat and dropping down his neck, did nothing to improve his spirits. His knees and back ached and it would seem good to get back into the office where it was light and warm and there would be no rain to face.
“I guess we’ve looked under every shrub on this side of the building,” finally said Arthur Jacobs and there was a bitter note of disappointment in his voice. “We might as well give up and go back.”