On leaving the hotel, they parted, the chief copy reader returning to his bachelor headquarters and Tim and Ralph going to the News building where they hauled out files of the paper and spread the heavily-bound books on their desks.
“We’d better check together,” suggested Tim. “Then there will be no chance of our missing a single tip.”
For an hour they poured over one volume, scanning each page and watching with especial care the picture page which was a daily feature.
“I’m too sleepy to go on,” said Tim when the city hall clock chimed eleven times. “Being outdoors most of the afternoon working on the plane gave me a yen for bed even though I want to keep on digging into the file. I might go right on over the very picture I’m looking for.”
Ralph picked up a telephone and called the Ransom House, where he ascertained from the clerk on duty that Mr G. Seven had indicated he would be a guest there for at least a week.
Relaying that information on to Tim, Ralph added, “Now you can go to bed tonight and sleep soundly.”
They had just finished putting away the files when the door of the editorial room swung open and a stranger walked in. He was middle aged, with close-cropped, iron-gray hair, piercing blue eyes and large, capable hands.
“I’m looking for Tim Murphy and Ralph Graves, flying reporters of the News” he said.
“I’m Murphy,” said Tim, “and my companion is Ralph Graves.”
“Then I’m fortunate to find you together. My card may give you some idea of what I want.”