Chapter XXVIII WASTE PAPER *
There was a real feeling of hope in Bob's heart as he stepped out of theDepartment of Justice building with Lieutenant Gibbons at his side.
"Things are going to move fast from now on," predicted the lieutenant."By the way, Bob, aren't you a little young to be a federal agent?"
"I'm not a full-fledged agent," explained Bob. "When my uncle wasassigned to this case and it looked like some valuable information mightbe gained by an inside man in our office, I was delegated to help him andgiven papers as a provisional agent. If I make good on this case I mayget into the service permanently, even though I'm a little young."
"I think you're going in with a rush and I know you're going to make goodeven though Edgar gave you a pretty short time when he said you'd havethe case solved within twenty-four hours."
"That's what scares me," confessed Bob, "but I've got to find my uncle.Once he's safe I'll start worrying about the radio secret."
"When you find him you'll recover the radio secret," predicted theintelligence officer.
Fifteen minutes of fast driving in a taxi took them to the apartmentwhere Arthur Jacobs resided.
The building superintendent, curious and somewhat worried over Bob'stelephoned orders, was waiting at the door to meet them.
Bob identified himself and the superintendent admitted them to thebuilding, taking them into the basement where an incinerator bulked inthe background. Beside it were a number of bales of paper.
"We've been baling and selling the waste paper," he explained, "but Ican't tell you in what bale the paper from the fourth floor, where Jacobslives, can be found. It's a good thing you phoned. We were going to havethis trucked out sometime during the day."
Bob looked at the bales and a feeling of dismay crept into his heart. Allhe wanted was one envelope--a small slip of paper--yet there wereliterally hundreds of pieces of paper in each one of the bales. He turnedto Lieutenant Gibbons. The intelligence officer grinned.
"Looks like we're in for it. Better get off your coat, Bob, and we'llstart on the first bale."
"You mean you want to open up all those bales?" demanded the buildingsuperintendent.
"That's right," nodded the intelligence officer. "We not only want to,but we're going to do it. Get some snippers and cut through the wires onthis bale." He indicated the huge stack of paper nearest him.
The superintendent snapped on additional lights and grudgingly cut thewires on the first bale while Bob took off his coat.
"Save every envelope with a Maryland postmark on it," he said.
It looked like an endless task, but Bob and the lieutenant, squatting ontheir heels, started through the pile of paper.
The building superintendent, after watching them for several minutes,joined in the hunt.
At the end of half an hour they had found four letters with Marylandpostmarks on them, but none of them addressed to Arthur Jacobs.
"We've got to have more help," decided the intelligence officer when anhour had slipped away and they had gone through only one bale. He went toa telephone and called the Department of Justice, with the result thatwithin half an hour six other agents were on the job, delving through thegrowing pile of papers.
By noon they had examined every scrap of paper from five bales and theirarms and backs were aching sharply.
"I'm dizzy," confessed the intelligence officer when they finally stoppedfor lunch. Leaving one of the agents to guard the bales in the basement,the others went to a nearby restaurant. Lunch was eaten quickly and witha minimum of talk, for every one of them knew that perhaps a man's lifehinged on the quickness with which they could find the tell-taleenvelope.
They carried a tray of lunch back to the agent who had been left on guardand plunged once more into the mountainous task which still faced them.
The early hours of the afternoon slipped away. Bale after bale of paperwas scanned with care and Bob felt his hopes sinking.
Another bale was finished and one more pulled down and clipped open. Heknelt down again and picked up a handful of waste paper. An envelope drewhis attention, but it was for another resident on the floor on which thefiling chief lived.
Lieutenant Gibbons, whose lanky form was almost doubled in a knot fromthe hours of bending down and looking at slips of paper, suddenlystraightened up with a triumphant cry.
"Here's the letter!" he cried, waving a badly torn envelope.
The federal men, dropping the paper they had been sorting, rushed to hisside.
Bob was the first to see the postmark on the envelope. It was marked fromRubio, Maryland, and was addressed to Arthur Jacobs.
The handwriting on the envelope was large and heavy and the pen which hadbeen used was none too good for it had dropped ink in two places on theenvelope.
Bob felt his heart leap. This was the clue they had sought for so manyweary, back-breaking hours in the litter of paper in the basement.
"How far is it to Rubio?" Bob asked the intelligence officer.
"I'm not sure that I even know what part of Maryland it's in, but Ibelieve if we go by plane, we should be there in an hour."
"Then we'll go by plane," decided Bob.
Just how he could obtain a plane was a question he couldn't have answeredat the moment, but he was determined to make the trip with the leastpossible loss of time for he felt that either in Rubio or near it hewould find the solution to the mystery.
Agent Nine Solves His First Case: A Story of the Daring Exploits of the G Men Page 28