"Nothing—as yet," was the answer. "I took your friend around through the American History room, just as I took you that day, and explained to him the location of seat 433. Since there was no danger of his being recognised he went right into the reading-room and took a seat at the same table. I scarcely liked to show myself, so I waited in the adjoining room. I had an attendant there in case he needed help.
"But we heard no sound, and when I finally looked into the reading-room I saw that your friend had gone, and that seat number 433 was also empty. The Carlyle books were lying on the table. The money had been taken. So I came back here to tell you."
Evan was anxious and perplexed. "I don't understand what could have happened," he said. "If the crook got away in spite of Charley, why didn't he come back here to report?"
"Perhaps he's still on his trail."
"But he was told not to let him get out of the building. There's nothing for me to do I suppose, but wait here."
Evan waited in the librarian's office until after lunch, but Charley neither came back nor sent any word. By the end of that time Evan, divided between anger and anxiety, was in a fever. He decided to make a trip home.
By the time he reached Washington Square anxiety had the upper hand. The gang must have got the better of Charley he told himself, or he would have had some word. Evan had had experience of the desperate lengths to which they were prepared to go. Would they now put their final threat into execution upon his hapless friend? Evan blamed himself bitterly for having sent Charley into danger. "If I do not hear from him during the afternoon, I'll send out a general alarm at police headquarters," he thought.
When Evan opened the door of 45A, Miss Sisson, according to her custom, stuck her head out into the hall.
"I suppose you haven't seen Mr. Straiker," said Evan.
"Yes, I have," she answered. "He came in about lunch time."