“He wasn’t on duty. If he had been, you’d have found him. How does that look—for a new hand?”
“There’s some reason for it, I’ll bet.”
“Yes,” said the super dryly, “there must be a reason; but, whatever it is, it’s no credit to Lenning. Come on and we’ll see if we can find him.”
Burke walked hurriedly along the side of the laboratory to the door, Frank following close at his heels. The bruise on the side of Frank’s forehead was not serious enough to bother him, and his head was as clear as a bell. The consequences of the fall had spent themselves on the first shock, and only the bruise remained to remind him of his disagreeable experience.
As his wits grew active, they picked up his interrupted chain of reflections where they had been broken off. He recalled the gleam of the bull’s-eye, and his suspicions of Lenning. Although he wanted to believe the fellow innocent of any treacherous work, yet his mysterious absence was the strongest bit of circumstantial evidence against him.
“The door’s unlocked,” announced Burke, halting at the entrance and drawing a long breath of relief, “and that means that Lenning is probably inside. Queer, though, that he hasn’t got a light.”
He pushed open the door and was about to step into the dark interior of the laboratory. Frank suddenly reached out a restraining hand and gripped his arm.
“Don’t be in a rush, Burke,” he warned. “When I was looking through the window I saw the gleam of a bull’s-eye lantern.”
“Thunder!” cried Burke, alarmed.
Shaking Frank’s hand from his sleeve, he flung himself into the darkness of the big room. Frank, tremendously excited, posted himself in the open door and watched and waited.