"Central tells me it was a pay station call. There doesn't seem to
be any way of tracing it. But, at least I have a record of the
voice."
"What are you going to do?" I queried. "It may be a fake."
"Yes, but I'm going to investigate it. Do you feel strong enough
to go down to Whitney's with me?"
The startling news had been like a tonic. "Of course," I replied,
seizing my hat.
Kennedy paused only long enough to call Norton. The archaeologist
was out, and we hurried on downtown to Whitney's.
Whitney was not there and his clerk was just about to close the
office. All the books were put away in the safe and the desks were
closed. Now and then there echoed up the hall the clang of an
elevator door.
"Where is Mr. Whitney?" demanded Craig of the clerk.
"I can't say. He went out a couple of hours ago."
"Did he have a visit from one of his detectives?" shot out Craig
suddenly.
The clerk looked up suspiciously at us.
"No," he replied defiantly.
"Walter--stand by that door," shouted Craig. "Let no one in until
they break it down."
His blue-steel automatic gleamed a cold menace at the clerk. A
downtown office after office hours is not exactly the place to
which one can get assistance quickly.
Pages:
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254