“I don’t see nothin’ at all,” commented Big Ben. “Nothin’ except a lot of shadows. They don’t mean nothin’.”
“Maybe they do — sometimes,” replied Ernie cryptically. “I ain’t felt right, tonight, Ben. Guess I must be nervous” — the gangster laughed sarcastically — “because when I come in here, I figured some guy was trailing me.
“But there ain’t nobody here. That’s a bet! Come along!”
He turned out the torch and led the way through the darkness, after locking the door of the office. When they had passed the outside door, Ernie locked it also. The two men walked to the street; there Ernie gripped Ben and held him back.
“It was right here,” he said. “I was smoking a cigarette. I waited, and it seemed like eyes were watching me. Eyes somewhere in the dark. Wait a minute, Ben! We can’t be too careful!”
A short time elapsed; then Ernie was satisfied. He and his companion emerged and sauntered along the street. Ernie began to laugh at his own qualms.
Something moved back in the darkness of the room outside the back office. There was a slight rustling sound in that very corner that Ernie had passed with his light.
A vague, low sound came from the office door. The door opened as an invisible hand finished with the lock. The tiny ray of a vest-pocket torch appeared within the office.
The light rested on the desk. A black-clad hand appeared and opened the drawer. It removed the three receipts that Ernie had placed there. The light went out.
A low laugh filled the room. It was no louder than a convulsive breathing, but its sound was weird and terrifying. The drawer slid shut.