They went upstairs, headed by O’Brien, who knocked on the door. There was no response and he tried the knob. It yielded and they entered.
An exclamation of chagrin escaped their lips.
The bird had flown!
CHAPTER XXVIII
RACING TOWARD THE PENNANT
On every hand was evidence of the frantic haste with which the apartment had been evacuated.
Drawers had been flung open, papers scattered upon the floor, electric fixtures ripped from their connections. There was no trace of the mysterious electrical instrument, though the imprints of its feet could be seen on a small table.
The members of the group looked at each other in bitter disappointment.
“He’s taken alarm at something,” remarked O’Brien. “Perhaps got a tip that you were on to his track. Maybe the quickness with which his machine worked this morning made him suspicious. Possibly he or his accomplices had field glasses, too, and they may have seen Mr. Matson keeping tabs on them. Well, I’ll put some of my men on his track and I guess we’ll round him up before long.”
“How about Harrish and Tompkinson?” asked Joe.