The chief attendant would never realize that the curator had unbarred that door during his check-up just after eight o’clock. Hollis would forget the noises that he had heard, never realizing that the curator, himself, had allowed skulking prowlers to enter.
That short ring had been a signal to Rubal. The curator had kept Hollis occupied while the interlopers had been busy. Departing, those associates had briskly informed Rubal that they were finished with their work.
Donning hat and coat, Rubal walked from his office. Hollis had already gone when the curator reached the front hall. A watchman blinked a torch; then unbarred the front door. Joseph Rubal stepped out into the night. The big door clanged behind him.
Like the chief attendant, the watchmen were in ignorance of the visitors who had come and gone. Of all entrusted with the guardianship of the Latuna Museum, the curator alone had knowledge of the strange treachery which he himself had perpetrated.
CHAPTER VIII
STRANGERS ARRIVE
AT ten o’clock the next morning, Clyde Burke entered the office of the Latuna Enterprise. He found it located above the press room that occupied the ground floor of a small building. Clyde tendered a Classic business card to a freckled office boy, who went through a door marked “Editor.” Returning, the boy nudged a thumb over his shoulder.
Clyde entered the inner office. A rangy, big-fisted man was seated at a battered desk. Long-faced, unshaven, this worthy was displaying shirt sleeves and half-buttoned vest. He wore a green celluloid visor upon his forehead and he was busily engaged in scrawling notations upon the top sheet of a sheaf of copy paper.
“Well?”
Harrison Knode put the question briskly, without looking up from his work Clyde strolled over to the desk.
“I’m after a job,” he informed.
“From New York, aren’t you?” quizzed Knode.
“Yes, sir,” replied Clyde.
“Too bad,” drawled Knode, still working. “Big-city ideas don’t go in a small town.”
The editor of the Enterprise seemed to think that the matter was settled. Clyde, however, stood by the desk. He paraphrased Knode’s statement.
“Small-town ideas,” stated Clyde, “don’t go in a big city.”
“That wasn’t what I said,” retorted Knode, looking up to study his visitor. “I said that big-city ideas don’t go in a small town. But you’re right, just the same, young fellow. Small-town ideas don’t go in a big city, either.”
“I know it,” chuckled Clyde. “That’s why I’m here.”
Knode looked interested. Clyde produced the envelope that Mann had given him. He brought out one of his column clippings and passed it to the editor of the Enterprise. Knode put on a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles and read the story. No flicker showed on his face; but when he had finished, he put the clipping in a drawer and studied Clyde narrowly.
“How much was the Classic paying you?” he questioned.
“Sixty a week,” returned Clyde.
“That would mean about thirty per, here in Latuna,” decided Knode. “I’ll make it thirty-five, Burke.”
“Where’s the hatrack, boss?”
“In the outer room. Go out there and holler for Bart Drury. Bring him back with you.”
Clyde went out and bellowed the name. A tall, pale-faced, young man turned in from a window, where he had been staring at passers on the street. He moved a dangling cigarette from his pasty lips and inquired:
“Yeah? Who wants me?”
Clyde caught the fellow’s eye and nudged toward Knode’s office. As Drury approached, Clyde preceded him. Knode, resting back in his swivel chair, made a terse introduction. Clyde shook hands with Drury.
“Read this, Bart,” suggested the editor, handing over Clyde’s clipping.
Drury complied. He chuckled; then handed the clipping back to Knode, who put it in the drawer.
“Reads like some of your stuff, boss,” was Drury’s comment. “Did Burke here write it?”
“Yes,” returned Knode, “and he’s on our staff. Your running-mate from now on, Bart. It will take two good men to cover this town. Team together. No jealousy.”
“All right, boss.”
“And for a starter, just so Burke can get a rough idea of this village, I’d suggest that you take him up to that museum shindig. Let him take a look at that Blue Sphinx that came in this morning. And point out a few of the local celebrities while you’re about it.”
AN hour later, Clyde and Drury strolled in through the open portals of the Latuna Museum. Planking had been laid up the steps. A squad of workmen were coming out from the anteroom beyond the front hall.
“Guess they’ve rolled the old blockhead into the main exhibit room,” decided Drury, in a casual tone. “It came in on a flat car early this morning. Over the siding that leads to the old quarry back of the hill. Well, Burke, let’s walk in and take a look at the Blue Sphinx.”
Clyde nodded and followed Drury toward the anteroom. Passage was suddenly blocked by a khaki-clad policeman who had been standing in the hall.
“Nobody goes in,” growled the cop. “Not until they hold the dedication. Chief’s orders.”
Another policeman appeared along the hall. Looking about, Drury noticed six in all. They were standing about the corridors, waiting for orders.
“Well, well!” jested Drury. “What’s this? A quarantine? Afraid somebody’s going to walk off with that five-ton sphinx? Say, you fellows — I’m a reporter for the Enterprise—”
“Which makes no difference,” put in the first cop. “Chief Grewling gave us orders to keep everybody out except the workmen and those connected with the museum.”
“A good idea,” returned Drury, sarcastically. “I’ll have to give the chief a write-up. He should have credit for this amazing foresight. I wonder if he’ll be kind enough to give me an interview—”
“Whenever you want one,” came a gruff interruption. “What’s on your mind, Drury?”
Turning, Clyde Burke saw Bart Drury wheel about to face a stocky, red-faced man who was attired in khaki uniform. Gold braid on shoulders and cap visor marked him as the police chief. Lawrence Grewling had entered while they were talking to the cops.
“Hello, chief!” grinned Drury. “You’re just the man I wanted to see. Tell these cowboys of yours to unbar the gates. Star reporter of the Enterprise wants an interview with the Blue Sphinx.”
“Yes?” quizzed Grewling, narrowly. “Maybe you mean that interview that your editor yapped about a few days ago. Is that it?”
“I don’t write the editorials, chief.”
“But you work on Knode’s sheet. Now you’re asking me for favors. Listen, Drury. If I had my say, I’d bounce you out of this museum. I don’t like you or anybody that works for Harrison Knode.”
“Meet another enemy, then, Clyde Burke, just in from New York. My teammate on the Enterprise.”
Chief Grewling gave Clyde a curt nod. It signified that as yet he had no personal grudge against the new reporter. Clyde nodded in return. Then Drury spoke again.
“All right, chief,” he said. “Bounce me out. Make a story for me.”
“I’m not having my way about it, Drury,” retorted Grewling.
“But you’re keeping me from seeing the Blue Sphinx, aren’t you?” quizzed Drury. “That’s having your way, isn’t it?”
“I’m taking orders from Mayor Rush,” stated Grewling. “I asked him about you, specifically. He said to let you or any other reporter have a free look in at this dedication. But he also said to keep everybody out of the Sphinx Room until he arrived. Everybody except the curator and the workmen. They have business in there.”