“Well, what did you see?” demanded Mr. Ridgeway as the man paused.
But he did not answer. He had been leaning on the edge of the massive table that Mr. Ridgeway used as a desk, and his fingers were feeling under the edge of the mahogany top. Suddenly he sank to his knees, and peered under the edge. Then he beckoned Mr. Ridgeway and Lawrence. Totally at a loss to imagine what O’Brien was doing, they too sank to their knees and looked under the table.
After a glance Mr. Ridgeway sprang to his feet and stared at O’Brien, who delivered a huge wink in the direction of the table. Then he started in as though he had only stopped talking long enough to clear his throat.
“Well, I peeked,” he said, “and there was a feller mauling that dirigible around and hacking at the propellers. I knew him at a glance; he was a dude I had discharged last week; wasn’t no good so I let him go, an’ he wanted to get even, so he done it by destroyin’ that machine. Of course I didn’t see his face, but I know the looks of his back,” added O’Brien, again winking at the table.
Mr. Ridgeway played up gallantly.
“I am glad you, found out who it was, O’Brien. Will you swear out a warrant? I am sorry about the dirigible, but I can get along without it for awhile. I am going out to the Golf Club now. Can I give either of you a lift?”
It seemed to Lawrence as though the two men were acting a part. He wondered if by any chance O’Brien had discovered one of the wonderful listening machines under the edge of the table. If that was so, their enemy must be close to them. He kept still, and let the others talk.
“No, sir; I am going right over to the police station and tell ’em what I know,” said O’Brien.
“I will have to go down to the Union Station and see about having my trunk sent up,” said Lawrence.
O’Brien nodded, as though pleased with the boy’s quickness of perception.