“What are you going to say to her?” asked Helen.
Janet shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose I’ll accuse her of writing this threatening note. That ought to be enough to get us into her apartment and once we’re there you look around for anything suspicious.”
They were entering the apartment when a car drew up to the curb and Janet seized her companion’s arm.
“Get out of sight, quick. That’s the sedan which followed Jim’s taxi.”
They slipped into the shadows to the right of the doorway and watched the sedan. Rachel Nesbit stepped out and after her came John Adolphi, director of their radio program. Janet could hear Helen’s gasp for under the director’s arm was a familiar portfolio. It was the portfolio in which Jim Hill had carried the manuscript.
Rachel and the director disappeared into the apartment building and Janet, without a word to Helen, ran toward the nearest shop, a little fruit store in a half basement.
“Where can I find a policeman?” she demanded.
The shop keeper helped her phone in an alarm and in less than five minutes a radio car pulled up in front of the store.
Janet told her story quickly and when the officers looked doubtful, she pleaded with them.
“You’ve got to believe me. Every minute counts. If that script is destroyed the company may lose thousands of dollars worth of business.”