“By the way,” exclaimed Craig, suddenly looking at his watch, “if we are to meet Hastings and accomplish anything we had better be on our way down there.”
In the Subway Kennedy relapsed into a brown study of the events of the day, only breaking away from his reverie as, above the rattle and bang of the train, he tapped the package he was carrying.
“I was just thinking of that garage incident of yours last night,” he remarked. “What struck you as being peculiar about it?”
“The whole thing,” I replied, smiling weakly. “I leaned into trouble—and got it.”
“Just so,” he returned. “Well, do you realize that the only mention we made of the garage was when we were talking in Hastings’s office? Think it over.”
He relapsed again into his study and nothing more was said until we arrived at Wall Street.
Hastings was waiting for us, nervously pacing the floor. Evidently the warning Kennedy had given had impressed him. He had been so afraid of even his own shadow that he had scarcely transacted any business at all that day.
“Kennedy, I’m glad to see you,” he greeted. “What has happened to-day? What’s that?”
“Nothing much,” returned Craig, vaguely, although his face was not at all vague, for he had placed his finger on his lips and was most vigorously pantomiming caution.
Carefully he unwrapped the paper about the coils I had seen. Then he set the instrument on Hastings’s desk, unscrewed an electric-light bulb from its socket and attached a wire to the socket. After a final careful adjustment he placed something to his ear and began walking quietly about the room, a tense, abstracted, far-away look on his face, as now and then he paused and listened, holding the free end of the apparatus near the wall, or a piece of furniture, wherever he chanced to be.