THE DOOR MOVES
★
Tully was in a talkative mood and at such times he displayed a pleasing
personality. This was one of those times, but to Bob it was more than a
little irritating for he had work to do and every minute passed in
talking with Tully meant additional time at his desk.
“I’ve had a funny feeling lately that things were tightening up in here,”
said Tully. “Even tonight this room doesn’t feel just right.”
“It’s the wind and the rain,” said Bob, looking up from his work. “When
the sun is out tomorrow you’ll feel much better.”
“I don’t know about that. Say, Bob, you haven’t heard of anything special
breaking? Something may be coming over from the engineers that is
unusually important.”
Bob couldn’t honestly say no, so he made an indefinite answer.
“There’s always talk,” he said.
“Sure, I know, but this time it’s different. I’ve heard that the radio
division has made some startling discoveries that more than one foreign
power would give a few millions to have in its possession.”
“What, for instance?”
“That’s just it,” confessed Tully. “There’s only vague talk; nothing you
can put your finger on.”
“I thought they kept that stuff pretty well under cover,” said Bob, who
was determined to feel out Tully and learn just how much the other clerk
knew. It was evident now that Condon Adams had been talking to his
nephew, probably telling him in substance much of what Merritt Hughes had
divulged to Bob earlier in the evening and now Tully was on a fishing
expedition to learn just what Bob knew. Well, two could play that game
and Bob, his head bent over his work, smiled to himself.
“Well, they never advertise the papers they’re sending over for the
permanent files,” Tully said, “but you know how things get around in the
department. Sometimes we have a pretty good idea what’s going through
even though it is all under seal and in a special code.”
Bob nodded, for Tully was right. In spite of the secrecy which usually
surrounded the filing of important documents, the clerks often knew what
was going through their hands, for even the walls in Washington seemed to
have eyes and ears and whispers flitted from one department to another in
a mysterious underground manner which was impossible to stop. Sometimes
the conjecture of the clerks was right; again they might all be wrong.
But it was on such talk as this that secrets sometimes slipped away and
into the hands of men and women for whom they had never been intended.
Bob’s division, which filed all of the radio documents, had enjoyed a
particularly good record. The chief, Arthur Jacobs, had been in charge
since before World War days, and he had used extreme care in the
selection of the personnel. There was yet to come the first major leak
and Bob hoped fervently that it would not happen while he was in the
division.
Tully puttered around his own desk, shoving papers here and there and
obviously making an effort to appear interested. Once he glanced sharply
at Bob, who was intent on his own work.
Finally Tully stood up and walked to one of the windows. He gazed out for
several minutes and Bob, glancing up at him, got the impression that
Tully was trying to make up his mind what to do.
The next thing Bob noticed, Tully was on the other side of the room,
pulling open one of the filing cases. The floor was carpeted and his
steps from the window to the filing cases had been noiseless.
There was no rule against a clerk opening one of the cases, for the
documents kept there were of no major importance. Something in Tully’s
attitude caught Bob’s attention. Then he realized that Tully was looking
into one of the files which was under Bob’s supervision and there was a
strict rule against that.
Bob hesitated for a moment. It seemed a little foolish to make an issue
over that. Probably Tully had done it absentmindedly. Then he remembered
his uncle’s warning to watch everything going on in the division.
“Tully, you’re in the wrong file,” said Bob.
Tully turned around quickly, his face flushing darkly.
“No harm, I guess. I just wondered what you’ve been doing and how you’ve
been handling your file. I heard Jacobs complimenting you the other day
and thought I could get some good pointers by looking your stuff over.”
“That’s okay, Tully. I’ll show you sometime when Jacobs is here, but you
know the rule about the files. I’ll have to ask you to close that one.”
“And suppose I don’t?” snapped Tully.
“Oh, you’ll close it all right,” said Bob. His voice was still calm and
even, but there was a note of warning that Tully dared not ignore.
Bob closed the file on his desk and stood up, stretching his long,
powerful arms. Tully didn’t miss the significance of the motion for Bob
had a well founded reputation as a boxer.
Tully turned back to the filing case and slammed the steel drawer shut.
“There you are, Pollyanna,” he retorted. “That file doesn’t look so good
after all.”
“Just so it suits Jacobs; that’s all that concerns me,” said Bob, sitting
down again.
Tully picked up his topcoat to leave.
“Well, anyway I don’t envy you staying on here alone tonight. This place
is giving me the creeps.”
After Tully had departed, Bob was able to concentrate fully on his own
work. A clock boomed out again, but he was too preoccupied to count the
number of strokes. For all he knew it might have been ten o’clock, or
perhaps even eleven.
A sharp knock at the door disturbed Bob.
“Who is it?” he demanded.
“Guard. Just checking up. How long are you going to be here?”
It was the first time in many nights of overtime work that a guard had
ever checked up, but Bob decided that it might be a new rule placed in
effect without his knowledge.
“Half an hour at least,” he replied.
Apparently satisfied, the guard moved on and Bob could hear his footsteps
growing fainter as he bent to his task again.
But he was not to work long uninterruptedly. The telephone buzzed and
there was obvious irritation in his voice when he answered. But it
vanished when he recognized his uncle’s voice.
“I was a little worried,” explained Merritt Hughes, “when I phoned your
room and found you weren’t in. Everything all right?”
“Yes, except I’ve had too many interruptions,” said Bob. Then he hastened
to explain. “I don’t mean you though. Tully Ross was in and sat around
for nearly an hour without doing anything except making me nervous.”
“Did he hint at anything?” asked Bob’s uncle.
“Yes. The same thing you mentioned. Evidently Condon Adams has told him
about it. You know Tully wants a position in the bureau of investigation,
too.”
“Sure, every youngster in the country would like it,” replied Merritt
Hughes. “Better stop for tonight and run along home and get some sleep. I
want you on the alert every hour of the day. You’re in the office from
now on.”
“I’ll be through in less than half an hour,” promised Bob. “Then I’ll go
directly home.”
“It’s a bad night and getting worse. Take a taxi and don’t run the risk
of catching cold.”
This Bob promised to do and with a sigh hung up the telephone receiver
and bent once more to the task of finishing the filing.
As the hours of the night advanced, the wind grew colder and Bob arose
and closed the window. The air in the room was now damp and it would have
been easy to allow his mind to run riot for the building was strangely
silent. Noises from the street, far below, were smothered in the sound of
the rain, driven against the windows.
A slight creak startled Bob and he whirled toward the door. Even in the
dim light which his desk light cast he could see the handle of the door
moving. Fascinated, he watched. The handle was moving slowly, as though
every effort was being made to guard against any possible noise. Bob
remained motionless in his chair as though he had suddenly turned to
stone.