him I didn’t want to butt in and wouldn’t bother him with any more questions.”
“Didn’t you see anything?” asked Tom.
“About as much as you could see when we were in the crowd in the car,” laughed Rawlins. “The garage wasn’t packed full, but there were about a million plain-clothes men and police there and Lord knows how many trucks, and everything that was going on was in the center. But I did see them piling a lot of boxes and papers and a lot of radio stuff into a truck and I heard a policeman smack his lips and say: ‘Glory be, but it’s a burnin’ shame to think of all the good booze that’s goin’ to waste nowadays. Sure it makes me throat feel dry as a load of hay to think of it.’”
“Perhaps,” suggested Mrs. Pauling. “These men you found have some connection with the Bolshevist threats and crimes that the papers say are taking place. Fred never lets us know much of what is going on, as he thinks I’ll worry. But whatever it is, I feel sure it has something to do with the troubles and worries Fred has had recently. Both he and Mr. Henderson have been working hard both day and night on something
and Fred has looked as if he had some great problem on his mind.”
“Well, I hope it’s that,” declared Tom. “Say, wouldn’t it be great if we really had helped Dad and the government on something more important than smuggling liquor.”
“There’s the bell again,” exclaimed Frank. “Perhaps that’s Mr. Murphy.”
Frank’s surmise proved correct and Mrs. Pauling repeated her husband’s orders to him. Scarcely waiting to hear, the detective turned and hurried off.
“I suppose we might as well have dinner,” said Mrs. Pauling, after Murphy had gone. “There’s no use waiting for Fred, he may be away all night. You’ll have dinner with us, won’t you, Mr. Rawlins?”
Dinner over, the four returned to the library and hour after hour dragged on with no word from Mr. Pauling.