McCarthy cast a surly glance toward Jack, whom previously he had ignored.

"Yes," he admitted grudgingly.

Darrow held out his hand. After a moment's hesitation McCarthy thrust forward a single yellow paper, and Darrow read aloud in spite of the boss'

warning gesture:

"McCarthy: The sign has been sent you and sent your people. You are stubborn, but it shall not avail you. You must go; and within twenty-four hours. It will not avail you unless you go. The _Celtic_ leaves to-morrow at noon. You must go on that ship. I shall know whether or not you obey me. Once more I shall warn you; one more sign shall I send. Then I shall strike!"

"He's getting garrulous," remarked Darrow reflectively; "but he's relieved my mind. You'd better go."

"Go!" cried McCarthy, half starting to his feet. "Not on your life!"

Darrow surveyed him calmly.

"You're getting rattled," said he, "and it doesn't pay you particularly to try to bluff me. A jack-rabbit of average firmness could stampede you in your present state of mind."

"You think so?" sneered McCarthy.

"I know so. And you're quite right. If you attempt the game too long, he'll destroy you."

"How?" demanded McCarthy.

"Take my word for it, _he can do it!_" replied Darrow.

McCarthy ruminated, drumming his thick fingers on the desk.

"Find him," said he, at last.

"I intend to," replied Darrow.

"That'll be all right about your friend's job," conceded McCarthy, with a nod toward Jack.

"I fancy you won't have anything to do with it," returned Darrow pleasantly.

At this moment the door opened and Hallowell entered. He nodded to Darrow, and greeted McCarthy.

"Nothing for you," growled the latter.

Darrow glanced at his watch.

"He will have in about five minutes," said he to the reporter.

The fifth member of the party now entered in the person of Simmons, the United Wireless operator. On seeing the number gathered in McCarthy's office he came to a halt.

Darrow immediately detached himself from the group and approached this man.

"Anything new?" he inquired in a low voice.

Simmons glanced toward McCarthy.

"New about what?" he demanded stolidly.

"Any more messages from our mysterious friend out in the ether to our equally mysterious friend at the desk?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Darrow surveyed him reflectively.

"This is a pretty big story," he said at last, "and affects a lot of people. If you really haven't leaked--well, he"--with a jerk of his head toward McCarthy--"must bribe high, or have a strangle hold on you for fair."

He looked around to see the boss' eye fixed intently on him, smiled pleasantly, and moved to one side. Simmons stepped forward, handed McCarthy a paper, and went out. The boss read the message slowly, and turned a little pale. After a moment or so he surrept.i.tiously drew out his watch. Percy Darrow smiled. He, too, held his watch in his hand.

"Thirty seconds more--about," he remarked pleasantly. The boss looked up startled. The last thing he saw was the faintly smiling, triumphant face of the young scientist. Then absolute blackness fell on him.

For several seconds astonishment held the inmates of the room chained to their places; and for that s.p.a.ce of time no sound broke the deathly stillness. Then Percy Darrow spoke, in his natural voice.

"Well, Jack," he remarked, "it worked out, to a second, almost. Now I'm certain."

As though this breaking of the silence had released a force hitherto held in repression, the room filled with tumult and clamor, with crashing, banging and scurrying of heavy bodies. A final concussion shook the air, and then, again abruptly, silence fell.

"Say!" Hallowell's voice spoke up, a trifle uncertainly. "I'll stand for most any kind of a dark seance, but this particular spook business is getting on my nerves. Are you there, Darrow?"

"Yes, I'm here," answered the scientist.

"Well, can you explain _that_ phenomenon?"

"That," drawled Darrow, a slight note of laughter in his voice, "was that extraordinary upheaval of natural forces known as Brother McCarthy going away from here--hastily."

Jack chuckled.

"He hit me on the way out," remarked that young man. "I'll testify he was a solid spook."

The reporter was methodically striking match after match, but without result. After a moment the acrid smell of burning woolen rose in the air.

"Are you dropping those matches?" asked Darrow.

"Sure; they're no good."

"Well, they're good enough to burn holes in McCarthy's rugs. Stamp around a little to put them out; and quit it."

"What next; and how long?" asked Jack. "What is it? Have we gone blind, or is it a total eclipse, or what?"

"I don't know how long," came back Darrow's voice calmly. "Next we will get out of the building. I want to make some observations. Get hold of my hand; we'll have to grope our way out."

"If we could only get a light," muttered Hallowell.

"You can't," stated Darrow.