They waited, uncertain what to do—in fact, there was nothing they could do but wait.
They had only a moment to decide. Down the hall, from the stairway, came other steps; the chums drew back inside the doorway. They let Curt peer out.
“It’s Griff, this time!” he informed the others. “He’s coming to meet his—no he isn’t! Get back! Hide!”
Hesitating steps paused but before there was any further movement Curt, Al and Bob were well screened from any but a careful search in full light.
They were glad, this time, they had gotten under cover. Griff did not go to meet his father!
Instead he came into the directors’ room, at least as far as inside its door, where, a faint blotch against a very dull oblong of weak light, Bob saw him standing, watchful.
“Shucks!” thought Al, “we can’t find out about Mr. Parsons on account of——”
They did not hear anything; but evidently the youth watching at the door did, for he came further into the room. Would he decide to hide? Might he choose the spot already occupied by one of the youths?
Their suspense was relieved! He waited inside the doorway, and it was a wait of a long, dragging three or four minutes that seemed like an age to the crouching trio; but finally he walked out, his step confident and loud, showing that need for concealment was over.
Quickly the three reached the door. Already, as they peered out, a light was glowing, but not electric ceiling domes—it was a pocket flash held close to something in Mr. Parsons’ own office.