Bob half closed his eyes and tried to picture Briggs entering this very room, catlike in stealth, approaching the unsuspecting man who had found the object which he had traveled far to obtain.
Briggs had taken it by force. He had covered his tracks. He had left a sign, which even Bob did not understand — the turned-down corner of a rug — and the matter had been ended. So far as Briggs was concerned, it was forgotten entirely.
Bob looked at the characters which he had traced. He was not sure that he had them correct except the last two, which were alike.
He wrote the letter “s” upon the sheet of paper and repeated it. He crossed out the letters. He wrote “t” twice, and again crossed out the marks. He wrote the letter “l” two times.
He picked up the sheet of paper and tore it. He ignited the pieces and watched them burn in an ash tray. He even destroyed the ashes, as though piqued at his own folly in considering those cryptic signs.
HE opened a drawer in the desk. From it he removed an address book which had belonged to Theodore Galvin. The book contained more than one hundred names.
Bob ran through the list mechanically. He paused a moment at the letter “M.” He continued to the end of the book.
Not a single name in the little volume bore even a check mark. Yet Bob seemed satisfied.
“One more,” he said thoughtfully. “Only one more — unless our guess is altogether wrong. This is something The Shadow missed — if he really was here that night the girl came in. But then — how could he know?”
Bob smiled. He looked toward Briggs indulgently. The big man was still reading the newspaper, his lips moving as he perused the words.