"Down the scuttle," answered Tom. "There must be one on the roof, for they have to come up here at times. We can force the lock, if necessary. I want to enter the building and see where Morse had his office."
"All right. Go ahead. I'll engage Mr. Damon here so he won't follow you. It will be great news for him. Go ahead."
Under pretense of wanting the help of the eccentric man in completing the repairs he had started, Mr. Sharp took Mr. Damon back into the cabin. Tom, getting a big screwdriver from an outside toolbox, approached the scuttle on the roof. He could see it looming up in the semidarkness, a sort of box, covering a stairway that led down into the building. The door was locked, but Tom forced it, and felt justified. A few minutes later, cautiously flashing his light, almost like a burglar he thought, he was prowling around the corridors of the office structure.
Was it deserted? That was what he wanted to know. He knew the office Morse had formerly occupied was two floors from the top. Tom descended the staircase, trying to think up some excuse to offer, in case he met the watchman or janitor. But he encountered no one. As he reached the floor where he knew Morse and his gang were wont to assemble, he paused and listened. At first he heard nothing, then, as the sound of the storm became less he fancied he heard the murmur of voices.
"Suppose it should be some of them?" whispered Tom.
He went forward, pausing at almost every other step to listen. The voices became louder. Tom was now nearly at the office, where Morse had once had his quarters. Now he could see it, and his heart gave a great thump as he noticed that the place was lighted. The lad could read the name on the door. "Industrial Development Company." That was the name of a fake concern headed by Morse. As our hero looked he saw the shadows of two men thrown on the ground glass.
"Some one's in there!" he whispered to himself. He could now hear the voices much plainer. They came from the room, but the lad could not distinguish them as belonging to any of the gang with whom he had come in contact, and who had escaped from jail.
The low murmur went on for several seconds.
The listener could make out no words. Suddenly the low, even mumble was broken. Some one cried out "There's got to be a divvy soon. There's no use letting Morse hold that whole seventy-five thousand any longer. I'm going to get what's coming to me, or—"
"Hush!" some one else cried. "Be quiet!"