a hunch it was,” said the giant somberly. “Though what could have set it off, with no one in there but him—”
“Shut up!” snapped one of the men.
Some time elapsed before Merto and Gerry came back down. The fat man’s face was a mask of wrath. The slim, younger man seemed to have regained his careful indolence.
“The detector was there!” Merto raged. “But it will do no one any good, now. Blown to bits! Wight, too. No chance, now, of holding him till he tells us how to duplicate it. We’ll have to start all over again. Never have we had such ill fortune on a job, Gerry.”
The slim, younger man put a cigarette in his long holder. He lighted it and took a thoughtful little puff.
“One of the detectors was in the plane and was retrieved by Chester Grace,” he drawled. “This must have been a second model. Meanwhile, the first is still out in the country laboratory. We can still get that.”
“Yes. But I’d thought—I’d hoped—that we could finish the job tonight, here. What could have caused that explosion? There was no evidence of laboratory experiments dealing with explosives that could go wrong.”
Gerry took his usual thoughtful little puff at his cigarette before answering.
“I have an idea on that,” he drawled. “Tell you later.”
Nellie watched the smoke from the cigarette curl from his nostrils. The little blonde’s blue eyes were narrowed ever so slightly. Trained eyes, quick to catch anything even slightly out of the ordinary, they had noticed a very small but rather puzzling thing.
This man, Gerry, at the Westchester place, had deeply inhaled every puff of his cigarette.
Now, twice running, he had not inhaled the smoke. He had seemed rather careful to avoid it.
CHAPTER X
Sealed Tomb
Merto’s arrogant, cocksure eyes ran over Nellie and Josh and Smitty.
“At least we’ll dispose of these,” he said. “I have some of the . . . er . . . pacifier with me that we were going to use on Wight, if we found that he had the detector here with him so that we no longer needed him alive.”
“Excellent,” said Gerry puffing lightly at the long cigarette in its longer holder.
“Did you notice the small storeroom across from Wight’s laboratory?” said the fat man.
“Yes.”
“No windows, an exceptionally sound door—of metal to keep it fireproof, I suppose. It is an ideal cell for these three.”
Merto faced around to his men.
“Herd them up to the third floor,” he said. “Then down the hall to the right, to the door opposite the one you will see hanging from one hinge.”
The nearest man to the three trapped members of Justice, Inc., prodded Smitty with the muzzle of his gun. He did it very gingerly; he was scared to death of the giant, gun or no gun.
“Upstairs,” he said, overdoing the bluster. “You heard the boss.”
The three went up the stairs. They kept their eyes and wits busy, looking for a way of escape.
There wasn’t any.
As they passed from the lighted area of the lobby floor, Merto, coming up with his men, kept his big flash turned on the three. This was so that there should be no instant of darkness in which they might make a break for it.
The fat man was a competent workman. It was too bad his trade was murder.
On the third floor, the three got a glimpse of what had happened in the muffled explosion they’d heard downstairs. They saw a door hanging, as Merto had said, by one hinge. It was a heavy door, testifying to the force of the explosion. They got a glimpse of wreckage within that room.
Then Merto was herding them into a doorway across the corridor. His flash revealed the interior of the room behind this door.
It wasn’t precisely a room. It was a building-maintenance storeroom, a bit larger than most. About twelve feet square, it was, with no windows, no way of exit save that one door.
The door was either of metal or was heavily metal-sheathed. This was to make it fireproof, in case polishing rags, or waxes in here should catch
“Shut up!” snapped one of the men.
Some time elapsed before Merto and Gerry came back down. The fat man’s face was a mask of wrath. The slim, younger man seemed to have regained his careful indolence.
“The detector was there!” Merto raged. “But it will do no one any good, now. Blown to bits! Wight, too. No chance, now, of holding him till he tells us how to duplicate it. We’ll have to start all over again. Never have we had such ill fortune on a job, Gerry.”
The slim, younger man put a cigarette in his long holder. He lighted it and took a thoughtful little puff.
“One of the detectors was in the plane and was retrieved by Chester Grace,” he drawled. “This must have been a second model. Meanwhile, the first is still out in the country laboratory. We can still get that.”
“Yes. But I’d thought—I’d hoped—that we could finish the job tonight, here. What could have caused that explosion? There was no evidence of laboratory experiments dealing with explosives that could go wrong.”
Gerry took his usual thoughtful little puff at his cigarette before answering.
“I have an idea on that,” he drawled. “Tell you later.”
Nellie watched the smoke from the cigarette curl from his nostrils. The little blonde’s blue eyes were narrowed ever so slightly. Trained eyes, quick to catch anything even slightly out of the ordinary, they had noticed a very small but rather puzzling thing.
This man, Gerry, at the Westchester place, had deeply inhaled every puff of his cigarette.
Now, twice running, he had not inhaled the smoke. He had seemed rather careful to avoid it.
CHAPTER X
Sealed Tomb
Merto’s arrogant, cocksure eyes ran over Nellie and Josh and Smitty.
“At least we’ll dispose of these,” he said. “I have some of the . . . er . . . pacifier with me that we were going to use on Wight, if we found that he had the detector here with him so that we no longer needed him alive.”
“Excellent,” said Gerry puffing lightly at the long cigarette in its longer holder.
“Did you notice the small storeroom across from Wight’s laboratory?” said the fat man.
“Yes.”
“No windows, an exceptionally sound door—of metal to keep it fireproof, I suppose. It is an ideal cell for these three.”
Merto faced around to his men.
“Herd them up to the third floor,” he said. “Then down the hall to the right, to the door opposite the one you will see hanging from one hinge.”
The nearest man to the three trapped members of Justice, Inc., prodded Smitty with the muzzle of his gun. He did it very gingerly; he was scared to death of the giant, gun or no gun.
“Upstairs,” he said, overdoing the bluster. “You heard the boss.”
The three went up the stairs. They kept their eyes and wits busy, looking for a way of escape.
There wasn’t any.
As they passed from the lighted area of the lobby floor, Merto, coming up with his men, kept his big flash turned on the three. This was so that there should be no instant of darkness in which they might make a break for it.
The fat man was a competent workman. It was too bad his trade was murder.
On the third floor, the three got a glimpse of what had happened in the muffled explosion they’d heard downstairs. They saw a door hanging, as Merto had said, by one hinge. It was a heavy door, testifying to the force of the explosion. They got a glimpse of wreckage within that room.
Then Merto was herding them into a doorway across the corridor. His flash revealed the interior of the room behind this door.
It wasn’t precisely a room. It was a building-maintenance storeroom, a bit larger than most. About twelve feet square, it was, with no windows, no way of exit save that one door.
The door was either of metal or was heavily metal-sheathed. This was to make it fireproof, in case polishing rags, or waxes in here should catch
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