The siren rose to a crescendo and then died to a wail as the police car swayed to a stop somewhere below and Bob knew then that rescue was near. His uncle, feeling the need for quick re-enforcements, had evidently called on the Washington police and commandeered a cruising radio car.
From somewhere out of the darkness came a low, deadly voice.
“Listen, kid, this spot is getting tough. Give me the key to this door or I’m going to turn this gun loose and it will be just too bad if I get you. I’ve got plenty of extra clips and I’m going out of here on my feet. Give me that key!”
Bob knew there was no time to lose for there was a ring of panic in the other’s voice and you never could tell what a panic-stricken man would do.
The desks afforded little protection from a barrage of bullets and Bob quickly edged his way out from behind them and in between two steel filing cases. While these were not intended to be bullet proof, at least they were much better than oak desks.
“Did you hear me?” called the voice from near the doorway. “Give me that key.”
Bob slipped his hands into his pockets, and pulled out a key ring. The key to his own room was somewhat similar to the one that fitted the door of this office. He quickly detached this and tossed it toward the door.
He couldn’t afford to cry out now for he knew the man near the door would shoot. The key fell on the floor and he could hear the frantic efforts of the other to locate it. Then came a gasp of relief from the unknown and Bob heard him fumbling at the keyhole, trying to insert the key and turn it in the lock.
There was a sharp cry from the man at the door.
“You’ve tricked me. Give me the right key. Give it to me!” The voice was nearing a hysterical pitch and Bob smiled grimly.