“All right, but hurry up,” returned Perry in a hoarse whisper. “See anything?”
“N-no, nothing much. There’s a table—what’s that?”
Fudge stopped abruptly and listened. Footfalls sounded in the hall below and, releasing his clutch on the ledge of the transom, Fudge wriggled from Perry’s supporting arms and descended to the floor.
“Someone’s coming!” he whispered. “Beat it!”
They “beat it” into the empty room across the corridor just as the intruder’s head came into sight above the landing. Fudge, watching through the crack of the partly-open door, beheld a man in overalls carrying a square of black tin. He passed on to the door they had just retreated from, set down his box, pushed a battered derby hat to the back of his head and regarded the portal thoughtfully. Finally he produced an awl, a screwdriver and some screws from different pockets and proceeded to attach the square of tin to the middle panel. The conspirators watched with vast curiosity. There was printing on the tin, but not until the man had completed his task and gone were they able to read it. Then they stole out and regarded the sign interestedly. This is what they saw:
MYRON ADDICKS,
CIVIL ENGINEER
They viewed each other questioningly and doubtfully.
“Civil Engineer,” mused Fudge. “That’s a funny game. Of course, that isn’t his real name.”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Perry uneasily. “He might come back.”