"This is my seismograph which tells me whether I have had any visitors in my absence. If the pen traces a straight line, it is, all right; but if—hello—Walter, the line is wavy."
We exchanged a significant glance.
"Would you mind—er—standing down the hall just a bit while I enter?" asked Craig.
"Be careful," cautioned Elaine.
He unlocked the door, standing off to one side. Then he extended his hand across the doorway. Still nothing happened. There was not a sound. He looked cautiously into the room. Apparently there was nothing.
. . . . . . . .
It had been about the middle of the morning that an express wagon had pulled up sharply before our apartment.
"Mr. Kennedy live here?" asked one of the expressmen, descending with his helper and approaching our janitor, Jens Jensen, a typical Swede, who was coming up out of the basement.
Jens growled a surly, "Yes—but Mr. Kannady, he bane out."
"Too bad—we've got this large cabinet he ordered from Grand Rapids. We can't cart it around all day. Can't you let us in so we can leave it?"