Bob straightened up and the beam from his flashlight struck one of the deep, recessed windows that were on the ground floor. The ledge in front of the window itself was at least two feet wide and it was on this ledge that the beam of light centered.
Bob cried out involuntarily and Arthur Jacobs, hearing the cry, whirled to his side.
Something was on that ledge; something that was shrouded in black. Bob’s heart leaped with an emotion that was one of combined fear and curiosity and with Jacobs at his side he plunged forward through the shrubbery.
Bob was the first to reach the ledge, which was about two feet above the ground level and well protected from the onslaughts of the storm.
His flashlight revealed the figure of a man, swathed in a dark blanket, jammed up against the window.
Bob was reaching for the blanket when Arthur Jacobs seized his arm.
“Don’t. We’d better wait until we can get your uncle down here.”
“No,” decided Bob, “we’ll find out what this is all about right now.”
With that he pulled the blanket off the figure and stared down into the pain-wracked eyes of the guard who was usually on duty on his floor. A gag, which had been ruthlessly put in place, made speech for the captive out of the question.
“Run for help!” Bob told Arthur Jacobs and the filing chief departed as rapidly as his short legs would carry him.
While he was waiting for help, Bob busied himself in an effort to unfasten the captive’s bonds.
Picture wire had been used to bind the man’s hands and wrists and the gag was of rough, heavy material which was held in place by strips of adhesive tape. It was to this that Bob gave his first attention for from the expression in the guard’s eyes he knew that the gag was causing him untold agony.
With capable but gentle fingers, Bob worked at the gag until the cruel bandage was freed. He bent down close to hear the first whisper from the man’s lips.
“Water, please!”
Bob half propped the captive up and then turned in quest of some water. Anything halfway decent would do. Nearby a small torrent was coming from one of the drain spouts. It had been raining for hours, so the spouting should have been clean.
The filing clerk cupped his hands under the spout and got a double handful of water. This he carried back to the ledge and let it trickle into the other’s mouth.
He was just finishing his task when Arthur Jacobs, followed by half a dozen guards, appeared on the run, the beams from their flashlights cutting a broad swath of light through the darkness.
The guards picked up the captive and carried him inside. Blankets were produced, the wire was cut from his hands and feet. By this time Merritt Hughes, who had been notified, was down on the ground floor. He took charge immediately.
“Get this man to a hospital at once,” he directed. “Two of you go along to see that he talks with no one. Understand, no one. I’ll be around soon and talk with him as soon as they get him into bed and take every precaution to avoid pneumonia.”
Bob felt sorry for the guard. He had been stripped of his uniform, bound and gagged and had been helpless on the ledge for hours. It would be a miracle if he did not suffer an attack of pneumonia.
An ambulance, which had been summoned, arrived, and they saw the guard lifted into the vehicle. Two other guards climbed in beside him.
“Remember, no one is to talk with him until I arrive,” Merritt Hughes ordered.
As they turned to re-enter the building, the federal agent spoke to Bob.
“Tully Ross got here just before the guard was found. Come along upstairs while I question him.”
They were waiting for the elevator when a short, thick-set man hastened in. He was scowling and obviously had been routed out of bed.
Merritt Hughes turned to greet the newcomer and as he recognized him there was no cordiality in the greeting.
“Hello, Adams,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t,” snapped the other, “but don’t think for a minute you can bull-doze my nephew and get away with it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know darned well what I mean. Didn’t you just phone Tully Ross and order him down here; didn’t you practically threaten him?”
“I wouldn’t call it exactly a threat, but I did tell him to get down here at once if he knew what was good for him. No clerk is going to be impudent with me.”
Merritt Hughes spoke firmly and calmly, but there was something in the flash of his eyes that told Condon Adams that he had gone far enough.
“If you want to come along while I talk with Tully, you’re quite welcome,” he added.
Condon Adams grunted and shouldered his way ahead of them and into the elevator.
They were silent as they rode up to the top floor and strode down the corridor to the office where Tully Ross was waiting for them.
Tully’s dark, rather handsome face, was marked by frowns as he saw Bob enter behind Merritt Hughes.
“Now what’s been going on here?” demanded Condon Adams as he surveyed the room with cool, calculating eyes. Suddenly he saw the radio file and he swung to face Merritt Hughes.
“This case getting hot?” He shot the question out in short, chopped-off words.
Bob’s uncle nodded.
“Looks like it.”
“Fine one you are not to let me know,” said Adams bitterly.
“I don’t recall that you’ve ever tipped me off to any breaks in any case we’ve worked on before,” said Merritt Hughes coolly. “When you get in that habit I’ll try to learn your telephone number.”
Condon Adams snorted.
“About what I expected. Well, let’s get along here. What happened?”
“You’ll learn all that in good time,” said Bob’s uncle. “Right now I’m in charge and I want to know why Tully came up to the office tonight and why he tried to look through the radio file. Speak up, Tully.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” began Tully. “I was going by and when I saw the lights on in the office I came up. Just curiosity, I guess.”
“Sure it wasn’t anything more?”
“Sure.”
“Then why did you try to look into the radio file?”
Tully shot a bitter glance at Bob for he realized that Bob was the only source of information on his activities while he was in the room.
“That was curiosity, too. You know there’s been talk around about some important papers coming over.”
Arthur Jacobs wrung his hands.
“Talk, talk, talk. Are there no secrets any more in this department?”
“Not many,” retorted Tully, who appeared to take malicious glee in taunting the filing chief.
“That’s enough, Tully. You know there have been serious happenings. Bob was attacked by a marauder who had gone through the files here.”
“What was he doing out of the room; how did anyone get in?” It was Condon Adams’ turn to speak.
Bob replied sharply, explaining what had happened.
“I’d call it mighty poor judgment on your part to leave this room no matter what the circumstances,” said Adams. “I think I’ll lodge a complaint against you.”
“That’s going far enough,” Merritt Hughes said firmly. “You’ll do nothing of the kind. If this thing is going to get as personal as that I’ll file one against your nephew for coming up here and attempting to get into a file that is prohibited to him. Now how would you like that?”
It was obvious that Adams did not relish the suggestion and the whole matter of filing complaints was dropped right there.
Merritt Hughes took charge then, questioning Tully carefully about all of his actions while he was in the room. Tully was surly, but he answered truthfully enough.
“How about it, Bob?” asked the federal agent.
“What’s the matter? Doubt my word?” flared Tully, his dark face flushing.
“Simply checking,” said Bob’s uncle and the tone of his voice invited no further remarks from Tully.
“Tully’s told exactly what happened up until the time he left the room,” said Bob.
“Then suppose you tell us what happened after he left and you were left here alone,” interjected Condon Adams. There was an unpleasant inflection in his voice that Bob resented; an implication that Bob might have been responsible for whatever had taken place that night. Merritt Hughes got it, too, but he ignored it.
Bob told his story in a straight-forward manner. Once or twice Adams interrupted to ask questions, but he gained little satisfaction from his efforts to heckle Bob.
“Well we’ve got two more sources of information,” said Merritt Hughes. “One is the man who was captured in this room and the other is the guard who was found on the ledge down below.”
“Which one are you going to question first?” asked Adams.
“I don’t know. It’s late now. I think I’ll see them in the morning.”
“Not trying to give me the slip, are you?” the words shot out of Adams’ mouth, which was twisted into a bitter sneer.
“I’m simply handling this case in my own way,” replied Merritt Hughes evenly.
“Oh, I don’t know whether it’s your case or not. Remember that both of us have been assigned to this radio angle. Well, you do the work and I’ll get the information out of your reports. It will save me a lot of tedious detail. Come on, Tully.”
Condon Adams, moving as rapidly as his short, thick legs would carry him, left the room and Tully, with a backward glance of mingled relief and unsatisfied curiosity, trailed after him.
Merritt Hughes, watching them depart, shook his head and Bob heard his uncle mutter, “What a precious pair.”
“What are we going to do now?” asked Bob.
“We’re going home and get some sleep. You’ve been through enough for one night. Jacobs, see that he is relieved of routine tomorrow. I want him with me when I question these men.”
“I’ll make the necessary arrangements,” promised the filing chief, who was still looking disconsolately at the mess of papers scattered over the floor. “Use Bob as long as you need him and I’ll fix up the reports here. Good luck and good night.”
“Good night,” replied the federal agent and Bob echoed the words. They strode down the hall together, entered the elevator, and when they reached the entrance of the building were fortunate enough to hail an owl cab which went cruising by.
The air was fresh, but the rain, coming down steadily, was driven by a sharp wind and the night was as raw as ever.
Bob leaned back in the taxi. It was restful listening to the steady hum of the tires on the wet pavement. His uncle looked at him quizzically.
“Pretty much all in?” he asked.
Bob nodded. “Well, I’m willing to admit that I’m more than a little tired and my muscles ache a good bit from that tussle in the dark back in the office. I thought for a minute that fellow was going to get away from me. It’s a good thing you put in an appearance when you did.”
“I knew speed was essential and I corralled a few of the local police to help me out,” chuckled Merritt Hughes. “Still think you’d like to be a real federal agent?”
“And how!” said Bob sincerely. “It’s got the thrilling kind of a life I’d like to follow.”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking it is all thrills and fun. There are months upon months when the cases are the merest of routines and the work is real drudgery. But every so often something bobs up that does add a zest to living. Where do you suppose that radio document went?”
“I wish I knew. Jacobs will worry himself sick until it is recovered. I knew something was in the air, but none of us thought anything important had been sent over.”
“Well, someone knew it and that someone must have had inside knowledge. There was no guess work in rifling those files.”
“No, but someone got into the wrong office the first time,” said Bob, recalling the ransacking of the other office on the same corridor. He felt in his pocket for the thin steel wedges which had been used in the doors. Snapping on the dome light in the taxi, he held them in the palm of his hand.
“These wedges were used in an attempt to lock the doors and keep me in,” he explained. “I forgot all about them until just now. What do you make of them?”
His uncle looked at them sharply, but refused to touch them. Pulling out a clean handkerchief, he had Bob drop the wedges into the cloth, covered them carefully and placed them in an inside pocket.
“I’ll turn them over to the laboratory. They may be able to find some fingerprints if they haven’t been handled by too many people.”
“I’m the only one who’s handled them outside of the man who put them in place,” declared Bob, who felt that here might be a really important clue.
The taxi swung toward the curb. A dull light gleamed over the entrance of the apartment house where Bob had a room.
“Sure you’re all right?” his uncle asked.
“Absolutely. I’ll take a shower and hop into bed. Don’t forget to stop for me when you go down town to interview those fellows.”
“That’s a promise,” agreed the federal agent.
Bob jumped out of the cab, hurried across the parking and into the entrance of the apartment. Turning, he watched the cab pull away from the curb. Then he inserted his key in the lock and entered the building. The air was warm and dank and it made him sleepy.
His room was on the third floor at the back and the lights in the hallway were none too bright. Bob’s room was part of an apartment occupied by an elderly couple, but it had an outside entrance on the hallway and he could come and go as he pleased.
Another feature of it was a private bathroom. In spite of its comparative luxury, he was able to obtain the room for a rent well within his modest means for Bob also acted as a sort of caretaker for the apartment when the older people were away on one of their extensive trips.
Bob unlocked the door of his room. He had left one window partially open and the air here was fresh. Turning on the lights he undressed quickly and stepped into the bathroom where he was soon under a shower.
A rough toweling down made his body glow and then he pulled on fresh pajamas. The clock on the dresser showed the time to be three thirty. The night was nearly gone when Bob tumbled into bed and turned off the light on the bedside stand. In less than a minute he was sound asleep.
Bob’s slumber for the first hour was deep and dreamless. Then his mind, as his body threw off part of the fatigue, became restless and pictures of the events of the night flashed through his brain. Bob stirred restlessly once or twice and finally aroused enough to mutter in his sleep.
He must have been reliving the vivid struggle in the darkness of the office for he was tense when he sat up suddenly—wide awake and listening for some sound from the hall.
Sleep vanished from his eyes. There was no mistake about it. Someone was outside his door, trying the knob ever so gently. At that moment Bob longed for some other weapon than his two capable hands. The side of the bed nearest the door creaked and Bob knew if he eased his body over that edge the creaking of the bed might scare away the marauder. Moving cautiously, he slid out the side next to the wall and put his bare feet on the floor.
An alleyway ran back of the apartment and a street light at the head of this sent just enough light down to mark the window as a lighter square against the general pattern of darkness.
This turning of the doorknob was getting to be too much for Bob and he cast about for some object which he could use as a club. His golf bag was in the corner and he managed to extract a steel shafted midiron which would make an excellent weapon if he had a chance to swing it.
There was no thought of fear in Bob’s mind as he moved toward the door. His bare feet padded softly across the floor and he reached out and touched the doorknob with his finger tips. It was moving.
For a moment Bob recoiled like he had been struck by an electric shock. Then he got a grip on his nerves and reached down for the key which he had left in the lock on the inside of the door.
To his surprise the key was not in the lock. Then he understood the slight noise that had aroused him. Whoever was on the other side of the door had pushed the key out of the lock and the noise made when it had struck the floor had brought him out of his sleep.
Bob leaned down and felt along the floor. He reached out in his search for the key, became overbalanced, and before he could regain his equilibrium, dropped to his knees with a thud that was plainly audible in the hall.
Bob’s hands closed on the key he sought, but as he drew himself upright again he heard someone running down the hall. Seconds later came the slam of an outside door and Bob knew that it would be useless to attempt any pursuit.
He turned on the light and opened the door. The same dim lights were burning in the hallway. Closing the door, he was sure that it was locked and then wedged a chair under the doorknob.
When Bob got back into bed he was a sadly perplexed young filing clerk. Why should an attempt be made to enter his room? The riddle was beyond him. Perhaps his uncle could solve it in the morning.
Bob’s nerves were tight. The mystery of the turning knob had aroused and sharpened his senses and sleep was slow in coming to him again. He tossed fitfully on the bed, turning the pillow several times in an effort to find a more comfortable place for his head. When he finally dropped asleep it was just before dawn.
Once asleep, Bob fell into a heavy slumber that was finally broken by the strident ringing of the telephone at the stand beside his bed. It was with an effort that he sat up in bed and reached sleepily for the instrument.
“Hello,” he said in a voice still drugged with sleep.
Then all thoughts of sleep were swept from his mind by the message which came over the telephone. It was from his uncle.
“The head of the bureau of investigation wants you to come down for an interview at eleven o’clock,” said Merritt Hughes. “Think you can make it?”
“What time is it now?” asked Bob.
“Nine-thirty.”
“I’ll be there with half an hour to spare,” promised Bob. “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
“Anything happen?” There was a note of anxiety in the question.
“Not quite. Tell you about it later. Where will I meet you?”
The federal agent named an office in the Department of Justice building and Bob promised to be there right after breakfast.
He hung up the receiver and piled out of bed. His muscles were still a little sore as a result of the encounter of the night before, but a snappy shower toned up his body and when he finished dressing he felt that he was ready for anything the day might have in store in the way of excitement and adventure.
Bob put on his topcoat and then removed the chair which he had wedged under the doorknob. In the cool light of the morning, the events of the night before seemed fantastic yet he knew that one man was in jail while another was in a hospital.
Bob stepped into the hall and carefully locked the door. More or less as a reaction he looked cautiously up and down the hall and then laughed at himself. It was just a plain hall and his fears seemed so ridiculous now.
It was 9:45 o’clock when Bob stepped out of the apartment building. He paused a moment to turn down the brim of his hat for the glare of the sun was too bright for unprotected eyes.
Across the street a large, dark sedan was parked and several men were apparently waiting for someone to emerge from the apartment house opposite. Bob turned and strode down the street. There was ample time for him to have a leisurely breakfast and still reach the Department of Justice building with plenty of time to spare.
The young filing clerk stopped at a nearby restaurant where he usually had breakfast and ordered rolls and coffee. Several morning papers were on the table and he scanned them with unusual interest.
Washington reporters were unusually alert and it was just possible that they might have received some hint of what had taken place last night. Bob went through every page, but there was no story even remotely connected with the night before.
He put down the papers and turned to his breakfast, wondering what the chief of the bureau of investigation wanted. Of course it must be linked with the radio document, but Bob felt that his uncle could adequately give all of the information needed.
Then another thought flashed through his head. But it seemed ridiculous. Yet his uncle had mentioned only the night before that there was a possibility. Bob’s great ambition was to become an agent of the Department of Justice and in that ambition Tully Ross was a bitter rival.
Bob finished his breakfast and started walking toward the Department of Justice building. The air was bracing and he swung along at a good pace, unaware of a sedan which was following at a discreet distance.
The filing clerk turned a corner and started down a little used street which was a short-cut toward his destination. As he turned, the car following him spurted forward and closed in the distance. Bob was less than fifty feet down the block when the car swung around the corner. The squeal of the tires as the wheels were cramped caught Bob’s attention and he turned around to look at the sedan.
He recognized the machine instantly. It was the car which had been parked across the street from his own apartment house. Something in the intentness of the driver and the alertness of the man beside him sent a wave of apprehension pounding through Bob’s veins. He felt sure that the car was on that street for no good purpose and he was the only pedestrian in sight.
Bob knew the short street thoroughly. Beside him was a rather high iron fence that protected a private home. Just inside the fence was a clump of barberry so thick they were almost a jungle of shrubbery. There was no protection across the street and it was a good two hundred feet to the intersection where he could hope to obtain help.
Bob heard the car slow down now and he steeled himself for what he felt was going to be an unpleasant encounter. Just why he had that premonition he could never tell, but in later days, his hunches were to serve him well.
The driver of the sedan had a scar on his forehead while the passenger in the front seat, who was nearest Bob, had red hair that frizzled out from beneath a soft felt hat.
The car stopped at the curb and the passenger jumped out, leaving the door open.
“Say, buddy, I’m looking for an address near here. Maybe you can help me.”
“Sorry, I’m afraid not. I’m in a hurry,” retorted Bob, edging a little closer to the iron picket fence.
“Oh, I guess you’re not in such a hurry. Matter of fact, I’ve got a little business with you. Ain’t you a filing clerk down in the archives division of the War Department?”
“Maybe I am and then maybe I’m not.” Bob’s reply was crisp.
“Smart guy, huh? Well, I know who you are and I’ve got business with you.”
Bob measured the other, wondering just how hard he would have to hit him to knock him out. The red head was about five feet eight tall, but was compact.
“We’re going to take a little ride and talk. See?” There was a threat in every word.
“I’m not riding this morning,” he said firmly.
“Give him a crack on the noodle and drag him in,” called the man at the wheel of the sedan. He started to get out of the car and Bob knew that between the two of them they would be able to overpower him.
“You asked for it,” he muttered as his right swung in a short, hard chop that landed on the red-head’s solar plexus. The blow caught the other man napping and doubled him up. Bob was ready for him and a hard cross with his left to the chin ended all thoughts of a fight which might have been in the other’s head.
“Hey, you,” yelled the driver. “You can’t get away with that.”
Bob saw him reaching for his back pocket and tugging at something. That decided Bob, who felt sure the other was reaching for a gun. Putting his hands on the fence, Bob vaulted the iron barrier.
He landed in the tangle of barberry, but the shrubbery was so tall that he crashed through and a protecting thicket shielded him from the eyes of the man on the other side of the fence.
Without waiting to see what was happening in the street, Bob beat his way through the shrubbery. The thorns tore at his clothes and his hands were soon streaked with scratches, but his thought was to get as far away as possible in the shortest time.
As Bob clawed his way through the dense shrubbery there was a sharp explosion behind him. Whether it was a shot or the exhaust of the sedan was something he didn’t stop to find out.
When he was finally clear of the barberry, Bob found himself in a small, open yard in front of the house, which was heavily shuttered and evidently unoccupied. But Bob wasted no time in reconnoitering the house. He kept on going, running around to the rear.
The iron fence enclosed the whole property but there was a gate and he made for this. A heavy padlock secured the gate, but Bob scrambled over without tearing his clothes and dropped into the alley.
From far behind on the other street he could hear the heavy roar of an exhaust and he ducked into a half opened garage on the other side of the alley for he had no intention of being caught out in the open.
When the noise of the exhaust finally died away, Bob went back into the alley. A walk of a block and a half brought him to a thoroughfare and he hailed a passing cab, directing that he be taken to the Department of Justice building.
Once inside the cab, Bob sat back to take stock of the damage which the thorns of the barberry had done to his hands. There were half a dozen raw angry scratches and innumerable little snags in his suit from the prickly stuff.
When he thought of what had happened in the last few minutes, Bob frankly admitted that he was at a loss to account for it. Why should he be singled out for an attack by a couple of hoodlums? Why should someone attempt to enter his room in the night? Perhaps his uncle would have the key to answers when he met him.
The cab pulled up in front of the Department of Justice building and Bob paid the driver and stepped out. Several pedestrians going by looked at him curiously and he realized that he looked strangely unkempt.
Bob stepped inside the building. His hands were smarting and he took out two clean handkerchiefs and wrapped them around his hands. There was still a little time before his appointment and he turned around and went to a nearby drug store where he explained that his hands had been scratched by barberry. A clerk recommended an antiseptic solution and Bob washed his hands thoroughly in this and then wrapped the handkerchiefs around them again.
Back in the Department of Justice building, Bob was whisked to an upper floor and a boy guided him to the room he inquired for. There was no name on the glass panel of the doorway and Bob stepped inside, wondering just what kind of a reception he was going to have. There was no one in the room when he entered and he sat down in a chair near a window to wait.
The door opened again and Tully Ross stepped in and stared at Bob. The surprise was mutual.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” exclaimed Tully, and there was no pleasure in his words.
“Guess that goes for me, too,” replied Bob.
Tully took a chair a few feet from Bob and conversation ended right then and there. For at least ten minutes no word was spoken until an inner door opened and Merritt Hughes entered.
“Hello, Bob. Hello, Tully. You’re right on time. Mr. Edgar will be here in a few minutes.”
Bob had seen Waldo Edgar, chief of the bureau of investigation of the Department of Justice several times, but he had never been introduced to him. Through the exploits of the bureau in recent months in tracking down some of the nation’s most notorious criminals, Edgar had become an almost legendary figure for it was from his office far up in the Department of Justice building, that he directed, by telephone, telegraph and radio, the great man hunts for the violators of the law.
Merritt Hughes looked at Bob’s hands.
“Hurt your hands in the fight last night?” he asked.
“Nothing like that,” replied Bob. “I got tangled up in a barberry hedge a few minutes ago and the thorns almost got the better of me. Guess I’ve ruined this suit.”
“What under the sun were you doing in a barberry hedge?” the federal agent wanted to know.
“Trying to get away from a couple of plug-uglies who seemed to want my company more than I wanted theirs.”
“No!” exclaimed his uncle incredulously.
“Yes!” retorted Bob with equal insistence. “I was taking a short-cut when a sedan pulled alongside me and one fellow got out and asked about an address. It was just a stall to get near me, but I had seen the car parked earlier just opposite the apartment. I was suspicious and when I thought he got insistent I let him have a couple. The driver started after me and when I thought he was reaching for a gun I went over the fence and dove through the barberry.”
Merritt Hughes whistled softly.
“This is serious. Have you reported it yet to the police?”
“No. I thought it was best to come right here and tell you. I didn’t get the number of the car for I was too busy trying to crash through that blamed barberry.”
“That’s not important. They’ve either abandoned the car or changed the license plates by this time. Can you describe the men who were in it?”
Bob supplied a detailed explanation and his uncle jotted the facts down on a small card.
“This will give us a lead to work on. Later we’ll go over to the bureau of identification and run through some pictures of red heads and men with scars on their foreheads. Maybe we can pick up some real clues there.”
Bob was tempted to relate the incident of the early morning at his room when someone had tried to gain access, but he hesitated to tell this in front of Tully. It sounded a little like a fairy tale or the work of an overwrought imagination.
The door to an inner suite of offices opened and a dapper, well-built man of about 38 stepped into the room. Behind him was Condon Adams.
Bob felt his pulse quicken for even before their introduction he recognized Waldo Edgar, ace of all the federal manhunters and chief of the bureau of investigation.
Edgar looked at the handkerchiefs on Bob’s hands and smiled quizzically.
“Fighting?”
“No, just plain barberry thorns,” replied Bob.
“Then I take it you weren’t strolling on the barberry just for the fun of the thing,” said the federal chief.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a stroll,” grinned Bob. “It was something like trying to do a hundred yard dash in nothing flat through half an acre of barberry. It was a good place to hide, but a poor place for running.”
Waldo Edgar’s eyebrows went up questioningly and he turned to Merritt Hughes.
“Does this tie in with what happened last night?” he asked.
“Apparently. Bob was trailed by a couple of hoodlums in a car. When he was alone on a side street they waylaid him, but he knocked one out and jumped over a fence and ran through a barberry patch to escape. He came here directly after that happened.”
“Anything else happened since last night?” The question was from the thin, straight lips of Waldo Edgar and Bob told in detail what had taken place during the early hours of the morning.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Bob?” exclaimed his uncle.
Bob flushed. “Well, it seemed like I’d been having enough excitement for the last twenty-four hours and this sounded sort of crazy.”
“I’ll say it sounds crazy,” snorted Condon Adams and Bob caught a supercilious sneer flit across the lips of Tully Ross. It was plain that neither Adams nor his nephew believed the story and Bob turned back to the federal chief.
“There’s nothing crazy about this story. It only confirms our realization that some tremendously powerful force is after these radio secrets. We know now that only a part of the secret papers were taken from the file last night. The others had not been sent over from the radio engineering division of the War Department.”
“But how could those papers get out of the office last night?” put in Condon Adams.
“That’s for you and Hughes here to determine. You’re on this case, but I’m going to add a couple of special agents to help you out. It isn’t that I think you’re not capable, but I believe several inside men in the archives division will be tremendously helpful to you and I don’t want to have outsiders go in there.”
Waldo Edgar turned toward Bob and Tully and looked at them through searching eyes. His scrutiny of Bob was fairly brief, but he appeared to be making a more careful appraisal of Tully, and Bob thought he saw just a flicker of doubt in the federal chief’s eyes.
“It is decidedly irregular for this division to take on additional men, and especially very young men, but when we feel a case merits unusual attention, we do not hesitate to cut away the red tape and employ the individuals we want to serve us. Bob, would you consider joining the bureau of investigation as a provisional agent, working directly out of my office and solely upon this radio case?”
Bob’s heart went into his throat and he choked in answering.
“I’d like that very much, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“I feel sure that you will. Tully, how about you?”
“Great stuff. Count me in.”
Waldo Edgar nodded.
“I thought you would both agree. Wait just a moment.”
The federal chief left the room and when he returned he had a Bible in one hand and several small leather cases in another.
“Place your left hands on the Bible and raise your right hands,” he directed. Then he read a brief pledge, which they repeated after him.
The pledge administered, Waldo Edgar handed one of the leather cases to Tully and the other to Bob.
“You will find your identification cards in there as well as a small gold badge. Further instructions will be given you later in the day. I’m expecting a great deal from each of you.”
After shaking hands with each of them he hurried away and Bob looked down at the identification card in the leather case. He was now Bob Houston, Special Agent Nine.
There was a strange mist in Bob’s eyes as he looked up at his uncle.
“Shake, Bob. You’ve got a real job ahead of you and I know you’ll come through with flying colors.”
“Thanks a lot. This is the biggest thing that has ever come to me and I’m going to succeed if it is at all possible.”
There was a grim sort of a chuckle from Tully Ross, who had shoved his leather case with its card and badge into an inside pocket.
“You’re going to have to step some if you think you can put anything over on me.”
Tully and his uncle left the office and Bob watched the door close behind them.
“Nice people,” he grinned.
“I don’t like the looks of this case,” said his uncle. “It isn’t pleasant to think that you’ve got someone else in the same department, who goes out of his way to make it unpleasant for you, working on the same case.”
“Then why is Adams assigned to team up with you?” asked Bob.
“Perhaps because we have a habit of getting results,” admitted Merritt Hughes, with a rueful smile. “We’ve been pretty lucky on a number of cases where we have worked together. The breaks have been about fifty-fifty and now we both want a really smashing victory that will bring us advancement. It looks like this may be the case, but it’s going to be dangerous business.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, look back over the events of the last few hours. We know that an important paper, containing part of a new radio discovery, was sent over to your department from the radio engineering division. Before it can be properly filed, a guard is overpowered and two offices ransacked to find this paper. Later in the night another attempt is made to enter your room and this morning there was an attempt to kidnap you. Looks to me like you’re in a key position, but I don’t know just what it is yet.”
“I’ll admit the attempt to get into my room last night and the trouble this morning have me worried,” said Bob. “I’m only a filing clerk so why such attention should be centered on me is a mystery.”
They walked out into the corridor.
“We’ll stop at the bureau of identification and see if we can learn anything about the fellows who tried to kidnap you,” said the federal agent.
They dropped down a floor and entered a long room where a number of clerks were working at filing cases.
Merritt Hughes walked up to a slender chap busy at a flat-topped desk.
“Look alive, Jimmy,” he said. “There’s business at hand.”
Jimmy Adel, chief of the filing division, looked up.
“Hello, sleuth. Who are you trailing this morning?”
“One red head and one fellow with a scar on his forehead.”