MacIlson licked his lips. “Can’t I get out a back door?”
“Through the cordon that’s undoubtedly waiting? Orbs! Don’t be more of a sap than you can help.”
“Can’t you—hide the stuff?”
“Where? They’ll ransack this office with X rays. No, I’ll just—” Vanning stopped. “Oh. Hide it, you said. Hide it—”
He whirled to the dictograph. “Miss Horton? I’m in conference. Don’t disturb me for anything. If anybody hands you a search warrant, insist on verifying it through headquarters. Got me? O. K.”
Hope had returned to MacIlson’s face. “Is it all right?”
“Oh, shut up!” Vanning snapped. “Wait here for me. Be back directly.” He headed for a side door and vanished. In a surprisingly short time he returned, awkwardly lugging a metal cabinet.
“Help me… uh!… here. In this corner. Now get out.”
“But—”
“Flash,” Vanning ordered. “Everything’s under control. Don’t talk. You’ll be arrested, but they can’t hold you without evidence. Come back as soon as you’re sprung.” He urged MacIlson to the door, unlocked it, and thrust the man through. After that, he returned to the cabinet, swung open the door, and peered in. Empty. Sure.