His uncle waved his hands impatiently. “No, no, Bob. Of course that wasn’t what I meant. I spoke hastily. You’re clean enough in this thing. What I want to know is how did that paper get into your coat pocket and how long has it been there.” “I only wish I knew,” retorted Bob, the color surging back into his cheeks. He stared steadily at the paper on the table before him. It was incredible that it could have been in his coat pocket all during the long hours of the frantic search for it. Yet it must have been, for there had been no opportunity for anyone to slip it into his coat recently. “I think the discovery of the paper in your pocket explains the mysterious attacks which have been aimed at you,” said his uncle slowly. “Certainly it was the reason for the rifling of your room and the attempt to kidnap you this morning. What a dumb-bell I was not to have guessed something like this before. It’s as plain as day now.” “I wish I could see it that way,” replied Bob, shaking his head. “The paper has been in your pocket ever since you encountered that marauder in the office last night. During the tussle he slipped it into your coat pocket when he realized that his capture was inevitable.” “That sounds plausible,” agreed Bob. “Why didn’t I search my own clothes?” “Because that was the last place in the world we would have surmised that paper had been hidden. What chumps we have been.” The federal agent look gloomy. “Well, I guess we might as well get going. We’ll report this directly to the chief and see what he has to say about it.” “Will he be on the job during the evening?” “When a case like this breaks he practically lives in his office. He’ll be there all right.” They left the restaurant, secured a taxi, and drove rapidly toward the Department of Justice building. Bob, catching the reflection of lights behind them in the mirror at the front, looked back. “Someone’s following us,” he said. The federal agent turned quickly. There was no mistake. A car several hundred feet to the rear was making every turn their own machine took. Merritt Hughes leaned ahead and spoke to the driver. “We’re being trailed. Step on it. I’ll take care of any officers who try to stop us.” “Nothing doin’, mister. I’m not getting myself into trouble. We’re stopping right here.” The driver slammed on the brakes and swung his car toward the curb, but a curt command from Bob’s uncle stopped him. “Get this car under way. I’m a federal agent and I’m in no mood to have you playing any tricks. Wheel this buggy for the Department of Justice building and make it snappy.” At the same time he thrust the little emblem of his office under the driver’s nose. The motor of the taxi roared as the driver tramped on the accelerator and their vehicle leaped ahead, widening the distance between the car which was trailing them. They took a corner so fast the tires screeched in protest and Bob wondered whether the other machine would be able to make the turn.