“Perhaps, but I hardly believe so. Usually the boys who do the rough stuff in a case like this know little of what is really going on. But we’ll see him a little later. No use in letting anything slip.”
The cab slowed down in front of the apartment house and Bob’s uncle paid the taxi bill.
They walked up to the third floor and then back along the corridor to the door which opened into Bob’s room. The door was slightly ajar and Merritt Hughes was about to push it open when Bob seized his arm and put his finger on his lips. Then he pulled his uncle back several steps.
“That door was locked when I left,” he whispered. “Someone’s been in my room.”
Merritt Hughes looked startled.
“Sure?” he whispered.
“There’s no question about it,” replied Bob.
“Then keep back and let me go ahead.” It was a whispered command that Bob dared not disobey and he saw his uncle reach under his left arm and draw a revolver from a shoulder holster.
They stepped close to the wall and again advanced toward the door, treading silently on the heavy carpet of the corridor. There was no sound of anyone moving about inside the room, but Merritt Hughes did not believe in taking unnecessary chances.
After listening a moment at the door, he reached out with one foot and gave it a hard shove inward, at the same time leaping into the doorway, gun in hand and ready for action.