“They’ve checked his home, but he left there right on time. It’s a cinch he never reached here, though. This building has been searched from top to bottom and there’s no sign of him.”
When they stepped out on the main floor there was evidence of suppressed activity for several guards, flashlights in their hands, hurried past them.
“They’re even searching the closets,” volunteered the elevator operator, “for the fellow who was caught up on your floor was wearing the guard’s uniform.”
Bob whistled softly. This was getting more serious every minute. He wondered about phoning the news upstairs to his uncle. But he decided against that. They would soon return to the upper floor and he could tell him then.
The night was as blustery as ever and Bob drew his topcoat close as the first gust of wind and rain swept down on them. The flashlights threw feeble glows ahead of them as they floundered through the shrubbery which flanked the base of the building.
“Ouch!” cried the filing chief as a piece of shrubbery snapped into his face and Bob turned to help him.
“Go on; I’m all right,” said Jacobs and they pushed ahead, Bob in the lead.
Back and forth they beat their way through the shrubbery, their lights held close to the ground. Time after time they stopped to pick up a sheet of paper in the faint hope that it might be the missing radio document they were seeking so anxiously.
Now they were directly under the windows of the office. Bob, looking up, could see the glow of lights from the windows. Here they were doubly careful to make a thorough search and Arthur Jacobs went over every inch of the ground with his own light, stooping to be sure that no scrap of paper went unobserved.
The quest looked hopeless and Bob stood up to ease his aching back.