Chapter XXVII

ACTION AHEAD
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Arthur Jacobs wiped the perspiration from his forehead and then reached for the glass of water. He drained it at one gulp and leaned back in his chair, an air of relief on his face.

Bob, tense, waited for him to speak. When the words finally came they rushed out in a torrent and Bob heard a story that wrenched at his own heart.

“It’s been terrible, Bob, terrible. I’ve got to tell you the whole story. When Fritz escaped from prison he made his way east and I had letters from him. He needed money; he had always needed money as far as that was concerned. When I sent word that I had none to spare, he started threatening me. Then he fell in with bad company and the first thing I knew he was here in Washington.”

The filing chief paused a moment and wiped his forehead again for the perspiration was running freely.

“Fritz came to my apartment and demanded money, but I actually didn’t have it. He went away for a while, and then came again later. It was on this visit last week that I got some inkling of what was in his mind. He started hinting around about the secrets which passed through my hands for filing and for safe-guarding. After an hour or so he came out in the open and made me a proposition. He knew where he could sell the secret of this new radio-propelled and guided plane if I could get my hands on the War Department papers.”

The filing chief stopped to pour out another glass of water.

“Go on,” urged Bob, who was desperately anxious to learn the full story and then resume the hunt for his uncle.

“Fritz offered me $5,000 for my share if I would only tell him when the papers reached the office. He said that was all they needed to know. I could have used the $5,000, but I told him I wouldn’t do such a thing. Then a couple of days later I got a letter from him. It was mailed somewhere over in Maryland and he repeated his offer and threatened me with exposing an old family scandal.”

“That was the letter Condon Adams found,” exclaimed Bob, and the filing chief nodded.

“I was careless about that. I tossed it in the fireplace, but didn’t make sure that it had been consumed.”

“But did you supply your brother with the necessary information?” asked Bob, pressing hard for more concrete information.

Arthur Jacobs lowered his head.

“Fritz came back the other night. He was in a terrible rage. He had promised to get this information from me, and had failed. You’ll never know the fear I’ve always had of Fritz. He was bigger, older and he always bullied me. He threatened to beat me to death and I finally told him what he wanted to know.”

Bob saw tears welling into the chief clerk’s eyes and he turned his own face away, for it had not been easy to hear this confession. When the young federal agent finally looked back, Arthur Jacobs was composed and calm once more.

“When did you give him this information?”

“It was the night before you caught Fritz in the office,” replied Jacobs.

“Have you seen him since then?”

“Yes, he came to my apartment after his escape and I sheltered him for a few hours. I didn’t want to, but he was armed and forced me to do it. That’s all I know about it.”

“Don’t you know who’s behind Fritz? Who is supplying him with the money?”

Arthur Jacobs shook his head.

“I didn’t even see any money,” he said bitterly. “Fritz said that would come later after this thing had been forgotten.”

Bob felt sorry for the little man, for he knew now that Jacobs had been the unwilling dupe of an older and bullying brother.

There was one bit of information Bob must have, one thing that was vital.

“Did you save the envelope in which the letter Fritz sent you from Maryland was mailed?” he asked.

Jacobs ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

“I can’t remember.”

“Did you toss it in the fireplace?”

“No, I don’t think so. I probably dropped it in the wastebasket. The maid cleans my apartment each day.”

“Then where would this type of rubbish go?”

“Down to the janitor, who would burn it in the incinerator.”

Bob reached for the telephone on the other table.

“Give me the number of your apartment house,” he urged, and Jacobs supplied the needed information.

The building superintendent answered and Bob’s words fairly tumbled over the wire.

“This is Bob Houston, a federal agent speaking,” he said. “Get hold of your janitor at once. Don’t allow him to burn any more waste paper or refuse of any type from the floor on which Arthur Jacobs lives. I’ll be there within half an hour to check up on you.”

The building superintendent was inclined to argue, but Bob cut him short.

“This is no time for words,” he said. “Do as you’re told or I’ll file a charge against you for interfering with the work of a federal officer.”

Actually Bob didn’t know whether he had that power or not, but the words sounded well and the threat did what was intended—the superintendent changed his tone and agreed to halt the burning of any more wastepaper or refuse.

Bob turned back from the telephone and Jacobs looked at him with a brighter face.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me,” he said, “but I feel better for having told you.”

“I’ll help you all I can,” promised Bob heartily, turning to call for Lieutenant Gibbons.

The intelligence officer opened the door almost instantly and Condon Adams and Tully Ross crowded in close behind him.

“Well, can you solve the mystery for us now?” asked Adams, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I think so,” replied Bob.

“Let’s have it, then.”

“Hardly. Solve it in your own way. Remember that I’m working with my uncle on this case. You have the invaluable help of Tully.”

“That’s enough of smart cracks like that,” replied Adams, his face flushing a little. “I want to know what Jacobs said.”

“I’m making my report direct to Mr. Edgar. You’ll have to get it from him.”

With that Bob left the room and went directly to the office of the federal chief, Lieutenant Gibbons trailing at his heels.

Waldo Edgar listened intently while Bob recounted what Jacobs had told him.

“I rather sensed what his story would be,” mused the chief investigator.

“Don’t you believe it?” asked Bob.

“Yes, every word of it. Just another case of an older and bullying brother taking advantage of a weaker one. It looks like Jacobs has supplied us with the key information we have been groping for. Good work, Bob.”

“I’m afraid I don’t deserve any congratulations. Adams turned up Jacobs as a suspect.”

“True enough, but Jacobs would never have talked for Adams or any of the rest of us. The important thing is that he did talk to you. Now what are you planning?”

Bob told of the letter from Maryland and of his orders to the building superintendent.

“The postmark on that letter should give us a clue to where the gang took my uncle,” he said. “There isn’t much chance of finding it, but it’s worth the time and effort.”

Waldo Edgar’s eyes brightened.

“You’re going to do, my boy. It’s things like that that count. You never can tell when even the tiniest slip of paper is going to give you the key to the case you’re working on.”

The chief agent turned to Lieutenant Gibbons.

“You’re staying on the case with Bob?” he asked.

“I’m going to try and keep up with him,” smiled the intelligence officer.

“Splendid. Then we’ll expect your uncle and the missing radio paper within the next twenty-four hours, Bob.”