| Author: | Miles J. Breuer | ISBN: | 1230000144229 |
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing | Publication: | June 22, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Miles J. Breuer |
| ISBN: | 1230000144229 |
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing |
| Publication: | June 22, 2013 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
In a corner office of the ground floor of the Department of Justice Building in Washington, D. C., a man sat bent over his desk with his forehead in his hands. He was a keen and powerful looking person, but at the present he looked utterly puzzled and helpless. He was Herbert Hawes, Chief of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation, and a famous man. Beside him on the desk, and on the floor around his chair, were arranged stack after stack of telegrams, yellow with black headings, and white with blue headings.
"Mercy Hospital reports mysterious disappearance of radium salts during night"
"Entire stock of radium disappeared last night. Two attendants found unconscious!"
"One hundred thousand dollars worth of radium disappeared from Mt. Sinai Hospital. Nurse and doctor unconscious!"
"Total radium supply stolen. Locks demolished. No clues!"
Thus ran the telegrams, all of them. They came from all of the large hospitals in the principal cities in the United States, and from numerous large University laboratories. From Bangor, Maine, to Jacksonville, Florida, from Portland, Oregon, to Los Angeles, and crisscrosswise over the country, the story was the same.
"A raid on the country's supply of radium!" the chief gasped, and sank down in his chair.
The realization of the enormity of the affair grew on him by leaps and bounds.
"What a holdup!"
Now he sat at his desk with his head on his hands. There wasn't a clue. There was nothing to go on. He could think of no way to start. He sat there and worried.
He did not know how long be had been brooding there, when he slowly became aware of an insistent irritation forcing itself into his detached brain. It dawned on him that it was the telephone. He rubbed his eyes, shook himself and grabbed the instrument.
In a corner office of the ground floor of the Department of Justice Building in Washington, D. C., a man sat bent over his desk with his forehead in his hands. He was a keen and powerful looking person, but at the present he looked utterly puzzled and helpless. He was Herbert Hawes, Chief of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation, and a famous man. Beside him on the desk, and on the floor around his chair, were arranged stack after stack of telegrams, yellow with black headings, and white with blue headings.
"Mercy Hospital reports mysterious disappearance of radium salts during night"
"Entire stock of radium disappeared last night. Two attendants found unconscious!"
"One hundred thousand dollars worth of radium disappeared from Mt. Sinai Hospital. Nurse and doctor unconscious!"
"Total radium supply stolen. Locks demolished. No clues!"
Thus ran the telegrams, all of them. They came from all of the large hospitals in the principal cities in the United States, and from numerous large University laboratories. From Bangor, Maine, to Jacksonville, Florida, from Portland, Oregon, to Los Angeles, and crisscrosswise over the country, the story was the same.
"A raid on the country's supply of radium!" the chief gasped, and sank down in his chair.
The realization of the enormity of the affair grew on him by leaps and bounds.
"What a holdup!"
Now he sat at his desk with his head on his hands. There wasn't a clue. There was nothing to go on. He could think of no way to start. He sat there and worried.
He did not know how long be had been brooding there, when he slowly became aware of an insistent irritation forcing itself into his detached brain. It dawned on him that it was the telephone. He rubbed his eyes, shook himself and grabbed the instrument.
