“Now isn’t that a lot of help! Don’t you know that there are a good many red heads and a whole lot of people with scars on their foreheads? Just be a little more exact, please.” But he grinned as he chided the federal agent.
“Jimmy, this is my nephew, Bob Houston. He’s detailed to help me on a new case that’s breaking pretty fast.”
“The radio case?”
“You hear about that?”
“Sure, it’s all over the department. Looks big to me. Adams working on it too?”
Merritt Hughes nodded.
“That means you’ll have to step fast. I hear that whoever solves this thing will be in line for an inspectorship.”
“Hope you’re right, Jimmy, because Bob and I are going to clear up this mystery. That is, if you’ll give us a little help. A couple of hoodlums tried to kidnap Bob a while ago. He can give you an accurate description of them and you may be able to pull their pictures out of the files.”
“We’ll find them for you if they’ve any record at all.” He pulled a blank form from a file and fired question after question at Bob on height, weight, color of eyes, and any possible peculiarities which they might have had. When he had finished both forms, he leaned back in his chair.
“I’d call that an almost perfect description of these chaps. If we don’t dig them out of the files, I’ll miss my bet. We’ll get something for you before midnight. Good luck.”
Bob and his uncle left the identification bureau and took an elevator down to the main floor. Bob’s hands still smarted from the scratches they had suffered from the barberry and he kept the handkerchiefs wrapped around them.
“I want to drop in at the police station and question the man caught last night,” said Merritt Hughes, “but we can stop at your apartment on our way down and give it the once-over. We might find something of interest in the hall.”
The federal agent flagged a taxi and they sped swiftly toward Bob’s apartment.
“Well, how does it feel to be a federal agent, even though you’re only a provisional one?” his uncle asked.
“I’m not quite used to it,” replied Bob, taking out the small leather case and extracting the card and badge which it contained.
He turned the badge over carefully in his fingers. His name was engraved on the back and behind this small emblem stood the mighty law enforcement machinery of Uncle Sam. Bob thrilled even though he was as yet a small and comparatively unimportant part of that great system, which was rapidly building up a worldwide reputation for “getting its man.”
Merritt Hughes settled back in the cushions.
“This is likely to be a rather long-drawn out case,” he said, “and from the way it’s started, it may be extremely dangerous. When it comes to that, I want you to step aside and let the regular agents take the chances. Do you understand, Bob?”
“But I’m not afraid of trouble,” insisted Bob.
“That isn’t it. When the pinches come we want men who have been tried under fire in there. You’ll be used as an inside man in the archives division and in that capacity you are going to be highly important. There must have been a leak somewhere, else how would it have been known that a part of the new radio development had been sent over for filing? It will be up to you to find where this information leaked before Tully Ross and Condon Adams learn it.”
The federal agent paused a moment, before continuing.
“After we find the leak in your department, we’ll have something to work back on. That should lead us to the man or the men who now have the papers that disappeared last night.”
“Won’t the man arrested last night be the key to that?” asked Bob.
“Perhaps, but I hardly believe so. Usually the boys who do the rough stuff in a case like this know little of what is really going on. But we’ll see him a little later. No use in letting anything slip.”
The cab slowed down in front of the apartment house and Bob’s uncle paid the taxi bill.
They walked up to the third floor and then back along the corridor to the door which opened into Bob’s room. The door was slightly ajar and Merritt Hughes was about to push it open when Bob seized his arm and put his finger on his lips. Then he pulled his uncle back several steps.
“That door was locked when I left,” he whispered. “Someone’s been in my room.”
Merritt Hughes looked startled.
“Sure?” he whispered.
“There’s no question about it,” replied Bob.
“Then keep back and let me go ahead.” It was a whispered command that Bob dared not disobey and he saw his uncle reach under his left arm and draw a revolver from a shoulder holster.
They stepped close to the wall and again advanced toward the door, treading silently on the heavy carpet of the corridor. There was no sound of anyone moving about inside the room, but Merritt Hughes did not believe in taking unnecessary chances.
After listening a moment at the door, he reached out with one foot and gave it a hard shove inward, at the same time leaping into the doorway, gun in hand and ready for action.
It was a breathless moment for Bob until he saw his uncle lower the weapon and nod to him.
“Come here and take a look at your room.”
Bob stepped through the doorway, and stopped involuntarily. The interior of his room looked like a young cyclone had been turned loose on a spring afternoon. Every drawer in the dresser had been pulled out and its contents dumped on the floor, the bedding was strewn about the room and the mattress had been ripped open and even his clothes had been taken out of the closet and scattered about.
“Friends of yours must have been disappointed because you weren’t at home,” said his uncle.
Bob sat down in a chair and took another look around. Nothing in the room had been spared. Even the pictures had been taken off the walls and the backs ripped out.
He looked down at a coat which had been dropped beside the chair. The pockets had been turned inside out and the lining of the garment had been torn and ripped. The coat was ruined and Bob felt hot tears of anger welling into his eyes. His fists doubled up involuntarily. Someone would have to pay for this, he told himself.
Merritt Hughes touched his shoulder.
“Keep your chin up, Bob. This is kind of tough and it looks plain malicious to me, but your time will come. I’m just wondering why all of this attention is being centered on you. I can’t make myself believe that they are trying to get even with you because you spoiled the game last night.”
“But I didn’t. The paper is missing.”
“Yes, it’s gone from the files, but they may not have their hands on it yet. Sure you made a thorough search down below the building last night? It couldn’t have been caught in the shrubbery?”
“I’m sure about that. We went over every inch of space and found half of the gum wrappers in Washington,” replied Bob.
“I wish I could feel sure that the paper has not gotten into the hands of the men who are after it. From what’s gone on today I’m inclined to believe there has been a slip somewhere. We know the paper is missing from the files but we’re not sure that the man who took it was able to deliver it outside before you caught him.”
“I don’t think he did. His only chance would have been to have dropped it from the window and that would have been too risky.”
“He might have placed it in a marked container of some kind and have had a confederate waiting below,” suggested the federal agent.
“That’s possible, but when Arthur Jacobs and I searched last night we couldn’t even find fresh footprints under the windows. Of course there were some near the window where the guard was trussed up, but if the paper had been dropped in a container, there should have been footprints directly below.”
“The rain might have erased them.”
“I doubt it. The ground under the shrubbery is unusually soft and I noticed how deep our own prints were.”
Merritt Hughes sat down on the bed and it was a long time before he asked Bob another question.
“What do you think about Tully? Could he possibly have taken that paper out of the file?”
“Not unless he was a magician and I don’t think Tully would do a thing like that. He’s wild and headstrong, but he wouldn’t go that far. Why that’s working against Uncle Sam!”
“Certainly, but some people aren’t bothered by scruples like that. Well, if we’re sure the paper wasn’t tossed out the window, it narrows down to three people—the man you caught, Tully and yourself.”
“But I wouldn’t take that paper,” smiled Bob.
“Of course not. I know that and so does Waldo Edgar, or he wouldn’t have made you a provisional agent. But Condon Adams is as anxious to solve this case as I am and he may try to hang something around your neck. Remember, that only three of you were in the room and that paper disappeared in some manner.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that way,” reflected Bob. “It does put me in a pretty serious light.”
“That’s why I have been so anxious that you be assigned to work with me on this case. I had a long talk with Edgar this morning. I’d told him of your ambition to eventually join the service and pointed out that you might well prove invaluable as an inside man on this case. He agreed with me and of course when Condon Adams put up about the same kind of a proposition in behalf of Tully, he couldn’t say no.”
“I’d like to know where Adams gets all his pull,” said Bob.
“Part of it is due to ability and part of it to powerful political friends,” explained his uncle. “The senator from Adams’ home state is high up in administration circles and in addition is a firm friend of this department. He’s helped get us the additional appropriations we’ve needed to expand and equip the department properly and of course the chief can’t ignore that when Adams puts the pressure on.”
“I suppose not,” admitted Bob, “but it seems unfair to the other men who have no political friends.”
“His is about the only case in the department in which that is true,” said his uncle. “But he’s competent, too. Don’t mistake that. I’ll have to keep on my toes if I run this radio mystery down before he does.”
“All of which means that I am the inside man for you while Tully is to serve his uncle in whatever inside capacity he can in our department,” said Bob. “I can see where there is going to be some intense rivalry.”
“Well, either Adams or myself should benefit by it,” smiled the federal agent. “Only don’t kill each other trying to dig out facts and get them to us first. Now we’d better find out what we can about the invasion here. How about your landlords?”
“They’re down in Virginia on a vacation. The only person likely to know anything about this is the janitor,” explained Bob.
“Take me down to him,” directed his uncle.
Bob looked ruefully at the room. There wasn’t a whole lot that could be salvaged, for his clothing was ruined and one of the suits had been practically new. He could see his savings account going down almost to the vanishing point.
They stepped out into the hall and Bob started to lock the door.
“Wait a minute. I want a look at that doorknob,” said his uncle. He took a small but powerful glass from his coat pocket and examined the doorknob. When he stood up he shook his head.
“Whoever opened that door was wearing gloves. That means if they were that smart there isn’t much use to check over the interior of the rooms for fingerprints.”
“Any sign of the door being forced?” asked Bob.
“No. A skeleton key must have been used. Lead on; we’ll see the janitor now.”
They found the janitor in the basement and when Bob explained their mission he readily assented to answer their questions.
“Strangers?” he said, repeating the question the federal agent asked. “Yes, a couple of them called about an hour ago. They wanted to know where Mr. Houston lived and I took them up to the third floor back. They said they had been sent to get some papers he had left at home.”
“How did they get in?” the question shot from the lips of the federal agent.
“Why, they had a key,” explained the janitor. “One of them said Mr. Houston had given them his key. It worked all right and I didn’t think any more about it. I was having trouble with the furnace smoking, so I came right back down here.”
“And left them alone in Bob’s room?” the agent pressed.
“That’s right. They seemed to know what they were about.”
“How long did they stay up there?”
“I don’t rightly know. I went up to that floor a few minutes ago, but no one was in sight then. Maybe they were there half an hour; maybe only five minutes.”
“What did they look like?”
The janitor scratched his head.
“Well, now, I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to them. One of them was a lot taller than the other one, though.”
A premonition had been growing on Bob and he couldn’t repress his question.
“Did the taller one have red hair?” he asked.
“Come to think of it, he did,” replied the janitor.
“And the shorter one; was there a scar on his forehead?”
“That’s right. Friends of yours, of course?”
“Well, not exactly friends,” said Bob.
“Remember anything else about them?” asked Merritt Hughes.
“Not right now, anyhow,” said the janitor and they left him to return to his work while they went outdoors.
Merritt Hughes was the first to speak.
“I guess there is no question about the identity of your visitors. They are the same ones who attempted to kidnap you. What’s the reason for all of your popularity?”
Bob shook his head.
“I only wish I knew,” he said. “Believe me, it is no fun to have your room torn apart like that. Why they ruined my clothes and it’s going to be mighty costly getting them repaired.”
“I’ll help you out if you’re pinched for money,” volunteered his uncle, reaching for his billfold.
But Bob waved the offer aside.
“Thanks, but I’ll get along all right. If I ever catch up with those fellows they’ll have to get their fists into action pretty fast if they want to escape a thorough drubbing.”
“I don’t blame you a bit for feeling that way. But we’ve got to get along. I have an appointment with one of the army’s chief radio engineers in less than fifteen minutes and I want you to sit in.”
They signalled for a cab and started for the meeting which was to reveal some startling information on Bob’s first case.
Merritt Hughes leaned back in the seat as the cab darted in and out of the heavy traffic on the avenue.
“All of the breaks have been against us so far,” he mused, half to himself and half to Bob, “but we’re bound to find something coming our way soon.”
“I’m anxious to see the fellow who is being held at the police station,” said Bob. “Surely you’ll be able to get some information out of him.”
“Remember you’re working on this case, too. Better say ’we’ instead of ’you’ when you’re talking about it. This is the firm of Hughes and Houston, working for Uncle Sam on a radio mystery.”
Their cab pulled up in front of the War Department and they entered and hastened to an upper floor where the federal agent rapped sharply on a door marked “Major Francis McCreary, Private.”
“Come in,” a heavy voice on the other side rumbled and Merritt Hughes opened the door.
Bob, looking in, saw a heavy man, a huge thatch of hair bristling over his forehead, at a flat-topped desk. He rose as they entered.
“Hello, Hughes,” greeted the major. “Right on time.” He nodded toward a desk clock.
“Made it with nothing to spare,” grinned Bob’s uncle. Then he added, “Major, I want you to know my nephew, Bob Houston. He’s working with me on this case. Bob’s the man who captured our radio thief last night and I’m counting on him as a valuable inside man in the department over there.”
“Glad to meet you,” boomed the major, offering a warm handclasp. “Are you in the Department of Justice?”
Bob started to reply but his uncle spoke first.
“He’s in the filing division right now, but he’s also a provisional agent and I’m expecting he’ll join the service permanently.”
The major shuffled several papers on his desk and picked up one.
“Here’s a copy of the paper stolen last night,” he said. “I know you want the gist of its importance and why so much interest attaches to it.”
He waved them toward chairs and dropped back in his own swivel seat, which he filled to overflowing with his generous bulk.
“We’ve been making some real strides in our army radio development,” he went on, “and some other powers have been watching us closely. There’s no need to mention names right now until suspicion definitely points to a nation. What we have actually perfected in recent weeks is a workable radio control for robot operated bombing planes.”
He paused a moment to let the significance of his statement sink in.
Bob knew its importance. Of course there had long been talk that such a device was possible, but it had never been perfected so far as he knew. Its value as a weapon of destruction was tremendous for airplanes loaded with high explosives could be dispatched over great distances and then made to drop their deadly cargoes upon a radio signal.
Bob glanced at his uncle. Merritt Hughes was sitting on the edge of his chair, waiting for the army officer to continue.
Major McCreary cleared his throat and Bob sensed that he was laboring under a definite strain.
“This project has been a pet of mine for years. I’ve encountered one discouragement after another and it was only two months ago that I struck the right track. Since then my developments have been almost sensational.” He paused a moment as though fearing they might feel he was bragging about his own accomplishments.
“Actual tests last week proved the practicability of my invention and I then set it down in detail for final filing. Of course we knew that other powers were aware of the line along which the experiments had been carried out, but our real source of worry was that they might get their hands on the actual details of operation. For that reason it was decided to file the material in various sections and to make no special fuss about it.”
“And the paper stolen last night was the first section of your file?” asked Merritt Hughes, restraining his eagerness no longer.
The army officer nodded.
“Right. It was the original. The one on my desk is a copy. The other originals are in a safe in this building.”
“Is there enough information on the first section which was stolen to reveal your plan in full?” asked Bob.
“That’s something that would depend upon the cleverness of the men into whose hands it is delivered. There is one European power whose radio experts are well advanced along the line on which I have been working. If this document is delivered into their hands, there is a good chance that it contains information which would be of value to them.”
“But so far we have no idea who is behind the theft last night,” said the federal agent. “Have you any hunches?”
Major McCreary shook his head.
“Nothing strong enough to give you any leads. But I’ll let you know the minute anything develops. In the meantime, make every effort to recover this paper. Once it passes beyond the boundaries of this country it may fall into the hands of men smart enough and unscrupulous enough to learn its meaning and put it to their own selfish use. It is a secret which would give them unlimited powers of destruction.”
After they had left Major McCreary’s office Bob looked at his uncle.
“What next?” he asked.
“To the police station to interview that prisoner without any further loss of time,” was the decision.
The station was some distance away and they took a taxi. Before they had gone three blocks the hooting of police sirens fairly filled the air and their driver was forced to pull far over to the right as radio cars went racing past, each driver tense at his wheel and the other officer ready with a shotgun in his lap.
“Something big’s broken,” said the federal agent. “Be just my luck to have it an angle on this case. Oh well, we might as well go on to the station and see what we can dig out of your friend.”
As they reached the police station another squad car rushed away, its siren screaming a warning to traffic.
Merritt Hughes fairly tossed the cab fare at the driver and with Bob at his heels, ran into the building. The federal agent knew the desk sergeant and directed his questions at him.
“What’s up, Barney? Bank been robbed?”
“Just about as bad. Someone slugged one of your agents and made a break. Matter of fact, I guess it was a friend of yours.”
“Quit kidding, Barney. What happened?”
“The fellow you caught last night was being questioned by Condon Adams when all of a sudden he ups and smashes Adams a nasty crack on the chin, grabs his gun, and legs it out the door. We’ve got every squad car in town out hunting for him.”
Bob felt his own heart sink for he knew that unless the fugitive was recaptured, their hopes for a real break in the radio mystery were slim.
Merritt Hughes stared hard at the police sergeant as though he dared not believe the officer’s words.
“Say that again, Barney. There must be some mistake.”
“There was,” grinned the sergeant. “Condon Adams made a mistake in questioning that fellow alone. Things certainly happened fast and furiously around here.”
The federal agent shook his head.
“We’re certainly not getting the breaks in this case,” he growled. “Where’s Adams?”
“He’s out with one of the radio patrols.”
“Have any idea where this fellow went when he made his break from the station here?”
“He forced a passing motorist to pick him up, but we didn’t even get a good description of the car. Oh, it was a smooth job.”
Merritt Hughes turned to his nephew and Bob saw an expression of almost despair in his face. Then it was gone in a moment, and in its place was a set look of determination which Bob had often seen when his uncle was working on a big case.
“Anything I can do to help you here?” the federal agent asked the desk sergeant.
“Not a thing, unless this fellow comes back and tries to steal the station.”
“Then we’ll go along to the hospital and have a talk with the guard who was attacked last night.”
As they left the police station they could hear the echo of the sirens in the distance.
“Think he’ll get away?” asked Bob, who had spoken only once or twice during the entire time they had been in the station.
“I’m afraid so, especially since the police have no description of the car he commandeered,” replied Merritt Hughes.
When they reached the hospital, they were shown immediately to the room where the guard was a patient. He was a middle-aged man, his dark hair streaked with grey and there was a bandage around his forehead where he had received a particularly painful blow from his assailant.
“Can he be interviewed?” the federal agent asked the nurse on duty in the room.
“If he doesn’t talk too long,” she replied.
Bob glimpsed the chart at the foot of the bed and learned that the guard’s name was Max Chervinka, and that he was fifty-three years old.
Merritt Hughes sat down beside the bed, while Bob, behind him, leaned against the wall.
“I’ll ask all the questions,” the federal agent told the guard. “Don’t talk unless you have to. Just nod a little in answer and that will do. Understand?”
The guard smiled and nodded.
“Had you noticed anything suspicious about the building recently?”
The answer was negative. Then the federal agent plunged into his questions, how had the attack taken place, what did the man look like, was there more than one, had he seen anything of a paper which might have been tossed from an upper window?
The answers were definite. The guard could not describe his assailant, as far as he knew there had been only one man, and he had not seen anything of a paper thrown from a window.
“Have you ever been offered anything to let anyone in the building who had no business there?” The federal agent rapped out this question sharply and Bob knew that his uncle attached great importance to the answer.
“Never!” The guard’s reply, though in a weak voice, was definite. “There was never any trouble until last night,” he added.
The nurse re-entered the room, noticed the bright eyes and the flushed cheeks of her patient, and spoke to the federal agents.
“I think he’s had all of the exertion he can stand for a while,” she said. “Later, perhaps this evening, you might call again if you like.”
“Has anyone else been here?” asked Merritt Hughes.
“Not yet.”
“Then don’t allow anyone to see him unless he can identify himself as a Department of Justice agent,” he instructed.
When they were down on the main floor, Bob spoke.
“Why did you instruct the nurse like that?”
“Just playing safe. We know that the guard didn’t see enough of his assailant to identify him, but other members of that gang don’t know that. There is no use in exposing that fellow to any unnecessary risks.”
When they were outside once more, Bob voiced another question.
“What do you want me to do now?”
“Better go down to your own office and step back into the routine. But keep your eyes open. Listen to everything that is going on, but don’t let anyone get anything out of you. Phone me before you leave this afternoon to go home. I don’t want you gallivanting around this town all alone. The next time some of your ’friends’ may come along and there may not be a fence and a thicket of barberry handy.”
“I’ll take a taxi home; you won’t need to come for me,” protested Bob.
“You’re not going to take a taxi home and you’re not going home. Until this thing is cleared up you’re going to stay with me. Then if anyone decides to pay us a visit in the middle of the night we’ll give them a surprise.”
“Let me know if anything big breaks,” urged Bob, and his uncle promised to do this.
After their parting, Bob walked down the street alone. A police car sped by, but its siren was not sounding an alarm, and Bob wondered if the rush of the first chase for the escaped prisoner was over.
As he hurried toward the archives building, he pondered the events of the last 24 hours. It seemed almost incredible that so much could have happened; that he could have been involved in so many different and exciting things. And now he was a federal agent. True he was only on provisional duty, but if he made good, there was an excellent chance that he would become a permanent member of the great crime-fighting organization.
His uncle had been right—so far the breaks had all been against them and now the one man on whom they had been counting for information had slipped away. But Bob couldn’t help a grin as he thought of the chagrin which Condon Adams must be suffering now. It would be hard to explain that escape from the very heart of a police station.
Bob turned into the building where his own office was located and took the elevator to the top floor.
When he entered the office he almost bumped into Arthur Jacobs, the filing chief.
“Any news?” asked Jacobs anxiously and Bob shook his head.
“What about the prisoner captured last night?”
“Don’t you know?” asked Bob.
“Know what?” demanded the filing chief.
“He just escaped from the police station.”
“Then we’re sunk,” groaned the filing chief. “That means that paper is gone for good and I’ll bet my job is too.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Give the federal men a chance.”
“But they’ve had nearly 24 hours,” wailed the chubby Jacobs.
“You can’t expect them to do miracles in that length of time,” cautioned Bob.
Before the filing chief could reply, the door swung inward and Tully Ross hurried in.
His face was flushed and he appeared to be laboring under some great excitement.
Arthur Jacobs looked at his watch.
“You might just as well have taken the whole day off,” he snapped.
“Well, maybe I will,” retorted Tully.
“I guess that’s about enough from you,” said the filing chief. “I’ll find plenty of extra work for you to do and you may change your attitude and show a little respect.”
A dark wave of color swept over Tully’s face and Bob saw his fists clench. He stepped closer to Jacobs.
“I’ll get here just when I please,” he stormed, “and don’t think I’m going to let you boss me around. I’m a federal agent now and I’m working on a big case. Don’t you forget that.”
But in spite of the bravado, Arthur Jacobs stood his ground.
“I don’t care what you are,” he replied. “As far as I know you’re nothing but a clerk in my department and you’ll get to work on time and you’ll be respectful or you’ll get another job.”
“If you don’t believe I’m a federal agent, ask Bob; he’ll tell you.”
The filing chief turned to Bob.
“Tully is right. I saw him sworn into the service today,” said Bob. He was glad that Jacobs had not asked him about his own position.
Tully seemed satisfied and his anger subsided when Jacobs once more told him to go to his desk and start work.
Bob glanced at the other clerks in the room. All of them had been covertly watching the entire proceedings. Bob felt that they were all trustworthy, but he felt better in knowing that they were not aware that he was a federal agent. Such knowledge might have spoiled any later efforts of his to gain information from them.
The affairs of the filing office gradually returned to routine with Bob and Tully once more at their desks. There was a tremendous amount of work to be done, for hundreds upon hundreds of papers had been removed from their usual places in the mêlée of the night before. Bob realized that it would take days for them all to be restored to their places and he rather hoped, as he contemplated the long and tedious task, that his uncle would have work for him to do that would take him outside the office.
As the afternoon waned Bob tried to analyze the character of the other clerks in the office. He had known them casually for more than a year now, but until this time he had never really tried to probe into their inner characters.
It was a task that he was particularly well fitted to do, for he had a rare gift of discernment of character and anything untrue in another usually sounded an alarm bell in Bob’s mind.
One by one he checked them off his list of possible suspects in connection with the disappearance of the radio paper. Could one of them have tipped off anyone outside? It was an unpleasant possibility, but Bob knew that in his new work he would be up against many unpleasant things.
The list narrowed down until Bob’s eyes rested on Tully’s broad shoulders. The other was hunched over his desk, apparently gazing through a nearby window and certainly not much concerned with the work on the desk in front of him.
Was Tully linked up with the mystery? Could he have been the one inside who had learned of the arrival of the precious paper and given the information to someone outside?
Bob didn’t want to believe that, yet he had checked all of the others off his list. His eyes rested on Arthur Jacobs, the filing chief. Could it have been Jacobs? It was possible, but Bob scouted serious consideration of the thought, for Jacobs’ heart was too much in his work and his pride was too great for such a deed.
Bob felt up against a blank wall. It was his job to sit tight in the office on the supposition that someone inside must have given out information. He felt now that there was little chance that this had been the case. There were plenty of other loopholes for the information to leak out and Bob was convinced that it must have leaked before the paper came into the filing office.
At five o’clock the other clerks left their desks, but Tully, Bob and the filing chief lingered in the office.
Jacobs spoke to Tully.
“I don’t care what you’re doing outside this office,” he said, “but as long as you’re here and at your desk you’ll have to work. I don’t believe you did five minutes work this afternoon.”
Tully’s eyes dropped and he studied the toes of his shoes. His voice was heavy when he spoke.
“I know I didn’t get much work done,” he said. “But I was so blamed excited over being a federal agent and then trying to figure out how this information could have leaked out. I’ll be back to earth again tomorrow.”
“I’m glad of that for we need your help in getting this mess straightened out.”
Tully nodded and went on, while Bob hesitated.
“I wanted just a word with you alone,” he told the filing chief. “I didn’t say anything earlier, but I’m also working on this case as a provisional federal agent. That means I’m on probation. If I make good on this case there may be a permanent job waiting for me.”
“I rather thought you might be,” smiled Jacobs, “after Tully blurted out that he was a special agent. I kind of put two and two together and it looked like it would be mighty strange if Tully were selected and not you.”
“It may be necessary for me to be away from the office at various times,” went on Bob, “but if I can’t get word to you, my uncle will see that you are advised.”
“Anything that really looks like a clue turned up?” asked Jacobs.
Bob shook his head.
“Not as far as I know, and I guess if there had been I wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you.”
Jacobs put on his coat.
“Coming down tonight?”
“I’ve some routine I can get out of the way,” replied Bob. “I’ll have lunch nearby and will be able to get through in a couple of hours.”
“I should come back, but I’m all in. Don’t work too late.”
The filing chief stepped out of the office and closed the door behind him and Bob was left alone in the long, high-ceilinged office. The room was in heavy shadows already, for the day had been cloudy and twilight had come early. He turned on the light over his desk, decided that he was hungry, snapped it off, put on his coat and left the office. At the door he turned and made sure that the room was securely locked. Then he walked rapidly down the corridor, turned, and signalled for an elevator.
Bob was walking through the main doors when someone hailed him and he saw his uncle.
“Going to eat?” asked Merritt Hughes.
“Just about half a ton of food,” grinned Bob. “It seems ages since I had anything, yet it was only a few hours ago.”
“Charge that up to excitement,” replied his uncle, as they strode along together.
“Any news of the man who broke out of the police station?” There was a real note of anxiety in Bob’s voice.
“Not a word. He must have been a magician. The police are still combing the city, but I doubt if they’ll find him. He belongs to too clever a gang.”
“But where could he hide so securely in Washington?”
“An embassy, possibly,” shrugged the federal agent.
Bob’s eyes widened. It had never occurred to him that a representative of a foreign government would give shelter to a criminal. Yet he knew that any one of half a dozen foreign powers would give a great deal to possess the new radio secrets.
“Don’t take that suggestion too seriously,” warned Merritt Hughes, who guessed the trend of Bob’s thoughts.
He leaned closer to Bob. “This case is causing all kinds of trouble. The entire War Department is in a furore and I hear special intelligence officers are being assigned to see if they can’t ferret it out.”
“Does that mean they don’t think the Justice Department capable of solving the mystery?” asked Bob.
“Not exactly that, I guess. It simply means that this case is of such tremendous importance that everything the government can do will be done in its solution.”
They turned into a quiet restaurant and selected a table well to the rear where they could talk without danger of being overheard for there were only a few diners in the place.
“Have you seen Condon Adams?” asked Bob.
The federal agent shook his head.
“I hear he’s having a pretty hard time of it. The chief had him in on the carpet and gave him a going over for letting this fellow slip away from him. But it could have happened to anyone. If we’d gotten there first instead of Adams, we might have been the victims.”
They ordered their dinners and Bob leaned across the table.