We turned in surprise. It was our old friend Burke, of the Secret Service.
He had already lounged off, and we followed without seeming to do so, stopping only for a moment at the news-stand.
“Why are you here?” demanded Craig, pointedly, as we three settled ourselves in an angle of the deserted writing-room.
“For the same reason that you are,” Burke returned, with a smile; then added, gravely, “I can trust you, Kennedy.”
Craig was evidently much impressed by the low tone and the manner of the detective, but said nothing.
“They tell me Hastings was in town this morning, at your laboratory,” went on Burke. “Too bad he didn’t take the time to call up his office. But he knows something now—that is, if he has that note I left for him.”
“Why, what is that?” chorused both Craig and I.
Just then Hastings himself almost ran into the room as if his life depended on finding us.
As he saw us he darted over to our corner.
“You are Mr. Burke, of the Secret Service?” he queried as Burke nodded. “Kennedy, the safe in the office of Maddox Munitions in New York was robbed late last night or early this morning, and the model of the telautomaton is stolen!”