Bob, teetering on the edge of his chair, breathlessly waited for the next words.
“I’m counting on you to be the key in the intrigue that’s going on right now in this building,” said Merritt Hughes. “What about it?”
“You know you can rely on me,” said Bob. “Why, I’d do almost anything, take almost any risk to get into the bureau of investigation of the Department of Justice.”
“I know you would, Bob, but that isn’t going to be necessary. All I want is someone who will keep his eyes open, listen to everything that is said around here, and report to me each night in detail. You know I wouldn’t want you butting into something where you might get hurt.”
“But I’m young and husky. I can take care of myself,” protested Bob, his eyes reflecting his eagerness.
“Sure, I know you can, but after all I’ve got to look out for you. Your mother would never forgive me if any actual harm came to you while you were doing a little sleuthing for me.”
There was a tender note in the voice of the agent, for it had devolved upon him to watch over Bob and his mother after the death of his sister’s husband some six years before. He had been faithful to the trust and he had no intention now of placing Bob in any situation where there would be real jeopardy to his life.
“Go on, go on,” urged Bob. “Tell me what I’m to watch for and what you suspect.”
Instead of answering Merritt Hughes stepped to the door, opened it, made a careful survey of the hall, and then drew his chair closer to Bob.