Having left Wiley there, Merry hastened to the nearest point where a cab could be found, and was soon being carried toward the office of Scott & Keene, Kansas City’s two famous private detectives. His one fear was that Bial Keene would not be at his office and could not be found. He knew Keene’s house address, yet it was possible the man would be engaged in some piece of work, so that he would be neither at the office nor the house. Having reached the office building, Merry instructed the cab driver to wait. As it was after hours, the place seemed almost deserted. The watchman was on hand, however, and promptly stopped Frank. “I must see Mr. Keene,” explained Frank. “Mr. Keene is probably at home.” “Are you certain?” “It makes no difference. You can’t see him here at this hour.” “Not if I have an appointment with him?” “He has said nothing to me about an appointment with any one.” “See here, watchman, don’t you remember me? I am Frank Merriwell. It was not many months ago that I was here, and upon that occasion a man fell down the elevator shaft and was killed. I think you should recall the affair.” “I do,” confessed the watchman. “Then you know that Mr. Keene was in my employ at that time. I must see him again on a most important affair. Here, watchman, is something for you. I shall consider it a favor if you permit me to proceed to Mr. Keene’s office.” As Merry spoke he pressed some money into the Watchman’s hand. The man seemed to hesitate, but finally said: “It’s against orders, but I will chance it. I may get into trouble.” “You will not,” assured Frank. The watchman escorted Merry up several flights of Stairs and finally paused before the door of the detective’s rooms. There he gave a peculiar knock, with the result that the outer door was finally opened. The man who opened it was neither Scott nor Keene, but the watchman knew him, and said: “Jones, here is a gentleman to see Mr. Keene on important business. It’s all right, I am sure.” “I don’t know about that,” returned Jones. “If he wishes to see Mr. Keene he can do so in the morning.” “My business cannot wait until morning,” declared Merry. “I must find him to-night.” “What’s your name?” “Merriwell.” “Frank Merriwell?” “That’s right.” “If you will wait a moment right where you are I will see about the matter. I am not certain Mr. Keene is in his private office, but I can telephone him if he is not. Excuse me.” The door was closed, leaving Merry outside with the watchman, who whispered: “Keene is in there. He will see you, all right.” This proved to be true, for, a few moments later, the door was again thrown open and Jones invited Merry to enter. “Mr. Keene was studying over a very perplexing matter, sir,” he said, in explanation, “and I was doubtful if he would care to be interrupted; but immediately on hearing your name he told me to bring you in. He is in his private office.”