“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.