THE FIRST CLUE
★
The coolness of the fall night helped to clear the mad whirl of Bob’s
fatigued mind and he mulled over the things that had happened as he
walked down the avenue.
For nearly 24 hours the missing paper had been in his possession, which
accounted for the attempt to kidnap him. But how had it leaked that the
paper had been sent over to the archives division for filing—who had
known that he would be alone that night?
Bob felt that knowing the answer to this question, he would have
something on which to base his further investigation.
Then there was the disappearance of his uncle that night. Bob knew that
both the radio document and the federal agent were in the hands of
ruthless and relentless men. From what his uncle had told him before, the
radio secret was worth a huge amount to almost every foreign power and he
dared not guess what country might be interested in obtaining its
possession through such means as had been employed.
Bob’s walk took him to the archives building and he automatically turned
in and went up to the office where he worked.
The guard on duty on that floor was a familiar one, and Bob spoke to him
briefly.
“Anything unusual tonight?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” was the quick and honest reply.
Bob walked down the corridor, unlocked the door of the office, switched
on the lights, and stepped inside.
The room appeared to be just as he had left it in the afternoon and Bob
sat down at his desk. It was quiet here and he would have an opportunity
to think out some of his problems.
But he found himself too tired even for that. His head was heavy and he
drowsed at his desk. Half an hour passed and Bob fell into a sound
slumber. For an hour he slept at his desk until the tapping of the guard
at the door aroused him.
Bob opened the door in response to the summons.
“Thought something might have happened to you,” said the guard, half
apologetically.
“Something did,” smiled Bob. “I went sound asleep. I’d better get out of
here and get to bed.”
While the guard looked on, Bob turned off the lights, locked the room and
started toward the elevator.
The guard halted him a few paces down the hall.
“Sorry, Mr. Houston, but I’ll have to search you. There’s a new rule that
anyone working on this floor out of hours must be searched.”
Bob was half inclined to be angry, but he realized the soundness of this
rule, especially after what had just taken place. He quietly submitted to
a careful search of his clothing by the guard.
“You know your job,” said Bob when the search was over.
“I used to be a store detective,” replied the other, with not a little
pride in his voice, “and if I do say it myself, I was one of the best in
Washington.”
It was only a few blocks to the hotel at which Bob had decided to take up
temporary quarters, and he walked the short distance at a brisk pace.
He registered, asking for a quiet, inside room, but the clerk looked
dubious when Bob informed him he had no baggage, but would arrange to
have his clothes sent down in the morning.
“You’ll have to pay in advance,” he said.
Bob delved into his pockets in search of money and to his embarrassment
found that he had less than a dollar.
The clerk appeared skeptical. It was late and after the fight in the
street Bob’s clothes were in none too good condition.
“Perhaps you’d better try another hotel,” he suggested.
By that time Bob longed for nothing more than a comfortable bed and a few
hours of sleep and his feet were heavy. They wouldn’t have carried him
another block.
Reaching inside his coat he pulled out the billfold and drew out the
identification badge which had been given to him by the federal chief.
“I guess this will identify me, even though I’m temporarily short of
funds,” said Bob. “Now I want that room and I don’t want to be disturbed
unless there is something really important. Understand?”
The clerk stared at the identification card and his whole manner changed
into one of the utmost courtesy. In less than ten minutes Bob was in bed,
to drop into a sleep that was to be disturbed hours later by the strident
ringing of the telephone on the stand beside his bed.
It was broad daylight when Bob rubbed the sleep from his eyes and
answered the telephone.
“Yes, this is Bob Houston speaking,” he said.
The words which came over the wire caught and held his attention.
“Yes, I understand. Of course, come right over. I’ll be dressed and ready
to go over the entire affair.”
Bob hung up the receiver, reached the bathroom in one long jump, and in
another had the shower on and was under it.
After a brisk shower, he rubbed his body down thoroughly, feeling ready
for what he knew was to be a busy day. The caller was Lieutenant
Frederick Gibbons of the intelligence unit of the War Department, who had
been assigned to help on the case. He had promised Bob information of
vital importance and almost before Bob had finished dressing there was a
knock.
When Bob opened the door a trim, soldierly figure was standing in the
hall.
“Lieutenant Gibbons?” asked Bob.
“Right. I take it you’re Bob Houston?”
Bob nodded.
“How about breakfast?” asked the intelligence officer.
“I’m ready now and hungry,” grinned Bob.
“Then we’ll eat and talk. The coffee shop downstairs is excellent.”
After they had placed their orders for breakfast, Lieutenant Gibbons
leaned toward Bob.
“How long have you been asleep?” he asked.
“It must have been nearly three o’clock before I went to bed here,” was
the reply.
“Then a lot of things have happened since you dropped out of this thing.”
“Has my uncle been found?” asked Bob anxiously.
“I’m sorry, but he hasn’t. However, we’ve turned up some clues that may
prove mighty interesting. The car in which he was abducted has been
found.”
“Where?” The question was sharp and anxious.
“Down near the tidal basin.”
“Was there any trace of him?”
“There was a stain or two on the rear cushions of the car, but nothing
serious, so if he was wounded last night, I don’t think we need to worry
about that.”
“But the tidal basin? Does that mean——?”
Though Bob left the question unfinished, the lieutenant guessed what he
feared and was quick to ease his mind.
“I’m sure your uncle is still a captive. We’ve learned that sometime late
in the night a high-speed motor boat dashed out of the basin and down the
Potomac. It was a strange boat that came up the river early in the
evening. We’ve a fairly good description of the craft and may be able to
trace it down. Now our first mission is to locate your uncle and recover
that paper.”
Bob liked the manner in which Lieutenant Gibbons spoke. The intelligence
officer looked keen and alive to everything. He was a little taller than
Bob and slender with a slenderness that was wiry. His eyes were a
sparkling brown and there was an upward twist to his lips that Bob liked.
“Have you heard whether Condon Adams and Tully Ross have turned up
anything?” asked Bob.
A frown marred the lieutenant’s forehead.
“They’ve been busy,” he said. “As a matter of fact, they’ve caused the
arrest of Arthur Jacobs. They found some rather suspicious looking things
at his apartment, including some half burned scraps of paper in a
fireplace in which someone was offering Jacobs $5,000 for information on
the radio secrets.”
“Does it look like a real lead?” Bob was anxious.
“It may, but I hate to believe it. Jacobs is a foreigner and he has a
brother who only recently escaped from a midwestern prison and who has
made a bad record.”
“Does his description tally with that of the fellow who escaped from
jail?”
“That’s just it. There is a real resemblance and Condon Adams says he is
certain that Jacobs’ brother, Fritz, is the man who escaped from him.”
“Maybe Adams is too anxious to build up a case,” said Bob.
“That’s true, but the facts are starting to click and it looks like the
Jacobs brothers are going to be in for some unpleasant hours. Arthur is
down at the central station now.”
“But it doesn’t seem possible. I’ve known him for a long time; he didn’t
seem like the kind who would get involved in anything like this.”
“That’s just when you lose your way,” he said. “Don’t take anything for
granted. If you want to succeed in intelligence work you have to put a
question mark around everyone.”