We had scarcely entered the hall when I saw that there was some one waiting for us near the door. It was Brooks, of The Star.
Brooks wore a very important air of secrecy, as though he had been doing a bit of gumshoeing and was proud of it.
"Something about Rascon?" I asked, jumping to the conclusion, after I had introduced Brooks to Craig.
"Yes," he replied, eagerly, "I've got a clue."
"A clue? Why, we've got Rascon—at least Doyle can get him whenever we want him. What do you mean?" I asked.
"How about those reports?" answered Brooks, pointedly. "You know he did a good deal of work for Wilford and wrote a good many of them. The reports are gone—Doyle told me."
"Where are they?" asked Kennedy, quickly appreciating the possible importance of the matter. "Is that what you've found out?"
Brooks looked knowing. "Ah—that's just it. You see, I decided to trail the trailers, so to speak. There's one very trusted operative of Rascon's—he calls him Number Six—that's his denomination, I believe, in the Rascon records. Well, that fellow has double-crossed him. He has stolen the reports, I hear. Or perhaps it's part of Rascon's plan to cover himself. I don't know. At any rate, I've traced Number Six to a river-front saloon—you may know of the place, a tough joint called 'The Ship,' on Water Street. Without a doubt there's something there."
Brooks was speaking earnestly and I looked questioningly at Kennedy.
"I believe it's worth following up," decided Craig, not even stopping to unlock the laboratory door, as we turned away with Brooks. "If we had those records it might point up the case very closely."