It was perhaps half an hour later when, to my relief, Kennedy returned, bringing with him a strange man. I looked at him inquiringly.
“You’re just wasting time here, Walter,” Craig explained. “I’ve got one of the Secret Service men here in the city to relieve you of your job. But I very much suspect that, after what happened last night, whoever had that place across the hall is through and would rather lose the detectaphone receiver than risk being caught.”
“Have you had any word from Riley?”
“Not a word. I’m getting anxious,” he replied, turning to the new man and instructing him what to do.
Kennedy was eager to get back, in case there might be a hasty call about Paquita. I could see, too, that he was convinced that we were baffled, at least as far as discovering who had been using the detectaphone was concerned.
We returned quickly to Hastings’s office, which was still deserted, and there, as we waited nervously, Kennedy drew forth the cipher and began to study it again, but this time on an entirely different line, following his own scientific principles, which he had laid down after investigating the work of other expert decipherers.
My hopes rose momentarily when we heard footsteps in the hall and the door was burst open. It was, however, merely a messenger-boy.
“Telegram for Mr. Kennedy,” he shouted, penetrating even the sacred inner office of Hastings.
Craig tore open the yellow envelope, read the message, and tossed it over to me. It was from Burke at Westport.
“Wireless operators at Seaville Station,” it read, “report strange interference. May be in reference to telautomaton. Will keep you advised if anything happens.”