“Guess we might as well give up,” he said. “Tully will be here in a few minutes and we’ll want to be back upstairs when he arrives.”
“There’s just a chance the paper might have been blown around the corner,” said the filing chief, who was determined to cling to even the most slender hope.
“Well, there’s a chance, but it’s a mighty slim one. We’ll have a try, though,” agreed Bob.
The rain was even sharper as they turned to the corner of the building and the lights attempted to pierce the blackness of the hour.
For five minutes they crawled back and forth underneath the shrubbery. Bob was chilled now and a trickle of water, coming off his hat and dropping down his neck, did nothing to improve his spirits. His knees and back ached and it would seem good to get back into the office where it was light and warm and there would be no rain to face.
“I guess we’ve looked under every shrub on this side of the building,” finally said Arthur Jacobs and there was a bitter note of disappointment in his voice. “We might as well give up and go back.”
Bob straightened up and the beam from his flashlight struck one of the deep, recessed windows that were on the ground floor. The ledge in front of the window itself was at least two feet wide and it was on this ledge that the beam of light centered.
Bob cried out involuntarily and Arthur Jacobs, hearing the cry, whirled to his side.
Something was on that ledge; something that was shrouded in black. Bob’s heart leaped with an emotion that was one of combined fear and curiosity and with Jacobs at his side he plunged forward through the shrubbery.