Adjacent to the entrance of the apartment house was a little lounge or waiting room. He guided her into it. “Now let’s get this settled,” he commenced.
“It is settled.”
“O.K., you win. Let’s get ourselves staked out.”
“How about right here? We can sit down and he can’t possibly get out without us seeing him.”
“O.K.”
The elevator had gone up immediately after they had quitted it; soon they heard the typical clanging grunt which announced its return to the ground floor. “On your toes, kid.”
She nodded and drew back into the shadows of the lounge. He placed himself so that he could see the elevator door by reflection in an ornamental mirror hanging in the lounge. “Is it Hoag?” she whispered.
“No,” he answered in a low voice, “it’s a bigger man. It looks like-” He shut up suddenly and grabbed her wrist.
Past the open door of the lounge she saw the hurrying form of Jonathan Hoag go by. The figure did not turn its eyes in their direction but went directly through the outer door. When it swung closed Randall relaxed the hold on her wrist. “I darn near muffed that one,” he admitted.
“What happened?”
“Don’ know. Bum glass in the mirror. Distortion. Tallyho, kid.”
They reached the door as their quarry got to the sidewalk and, as on the day before, turned to the left.
Randall paused uncertainly. “I think we’ll take a chance on him seeing us. I don’t want to lose him.”
“Couldn’t we follow him just as effectively in a cab? If he gets on a bus where he did before, we’ll be better off than we would be trying to get on it with him.” She did not admit, even to herself, that she was trying to keep them away from Hoag.
“No, he might not take a bus. Come on.”
They had no difficulty in following him; he was heading down the street at a brisk, but not a difficult, pace. When he came to the bus stop where he had gotten on the day before, he purchased a paper and sat down on the bench. Randall and Cynthia passed behind him and took shelter in a shop entrance.
When the bus came he went up to the second deck as before; they got on and remained on the lower level. “Looks like he was going right where he went yesterday,” Randall commented. “We’ll get him today, kid.”
She did not answer.
When the bus approached the stop near the Acme Building they were ready and waiting-but Hoag failed to come down the steps. The bus started up again with a jerk; they sat back down. “What do you suppose he is up to?” Randall fretted. “Do you suppose he saw us?”
“Maybe he gave us the slip,” Cynthia suggested hopefully.
“How? By jumping off the top of the bus? Hm-m-m!”
“Not quite, but you’re close. If another bus pulled alongside us at a stop light, he could have done it by stepping across, over the railing. I saw a man do that once. If you do it toward the rear, you stand a good chance of getting away with it entirely.”
He considered the matter. “I’m pretty sure no bus has pulled up by us. Still, he could do it to the top of a truck, too, though Lord knows how he would get off again.” He fidgeted. “Tell you what-I’m going back to the stairs and sneak a look.”
“And meet him coming down? Be your age, Brain.”
He subsided; the bus went on a few blocks. “Coming to our own corner,” he remarked.
She nodded, naturally having noticed as soon as he did that they were approaching the corner nearest the building in which their own office was located. She took out her compact and powdered her nose, a routine she had followed eight times since getting on the bus. The little mirror made a handy periscope whereby to watch the passengers getting off the rear of the bus. “There he is, Teddy!”
Randall was up out of his seat at once and hurrying down the aisle, waving at the conductor. The conductor looked annoyed but signaled the driver not to start. “Why don’t you watch the streets?” he asked.