Meanwhile, Tom and his captor waited tensely. From time to time the latter glanced at his watch. "Better hope that call does the trick, Swift," he muttered. "It's the only hope you got of leavin' here alive!"
"How will you know if they've turned Mirov loose?" Tom asked. He was wondering if he might persuade his captor to let him make a second call.
"Don't worry. Mirov knows how to contact me."
Half an hour dragged by—then forty minutes. Suddenly the door buzzer rang sharply. The man jerked to attention, obviously startled. He glanced at Tom, then toward the direction of the sound, moistening his lips nervously.
"He must have been expecting just a phone call," Tom decided.
The buzzer shrilled again. This time the man got up from his chair, gagged Tom hastily with a handkerchief, and went to the door.
"Who's there?" he asked loudly.
"Mirov! Let me in, Duffy!" replied an accented voice from outside.
With a look of relief, Duffy started to open the door—then froze as he saw not only Mirov, but two police officers and Ames accompanying him.
"Are you the one who's going to put up bail?" one of the officers demanded.