Men of Mystery

Detective Sergeant

Nevertheless, the hardboiled cop couldn't prevent an apprehensive shiver from creeping up his spine.

Suddenly, the arrow on the indicator began to move. The three minutes were up. Mooney had released the button, and the elevator was descending. A heartbeat later, the door to the elevator swung open even as the fingers of the police tensed on their gun triggers ...

A hesitant, alarmed voice broke the silence: "My word. Look at all those guns."

Out of the elevator stepped a slim, nervous figure dressed in a blazer, a white-collared shirt, trousers, and a necktie. A brown fedora sat on top of his head . Meek eyes blinked fearfully behind thick-rimmed glasses.

From somewhere behind him, the dumbfounded Detective Sergeant heard a smothered titter. Blake's face reddened. "Where' s Cerulean?" he shouted at the mouse-like young man who stood before him, "What in all that's holy are you doing in that elevator?"

"I was just — er — descending to the lobby, when something apparently went wrong with the mechanism. I'll admit I was terrified for a few moments but ..."

"Answer me!" thundered Blake. "Did you see a man in a strange uniform in that elevator?"

"No one at all ... that is, except myself. I'm afraid there must be some mistake, Sergeant. I'm Craig Crent, reporter on the Daily Record."

"But Cerulean was seen to enter the elevator by one of my men. How do you explain that?"

Craig shrugged. "It's beyond me," he said. "Possibly your man was high-strung, or had an over active imagination."

A loud laugh went up at this. The Detective Sergeant whirled to face his men, his features registering keen disappointment. "I guess that it was just a false alarm, at that. Let's head back for headquarters to turn in a report."

"I say, that's odd," interrupted Crent. "I was just about to go to police headquarters myself in search of a story. Do you mind if I accompany you?"

Later as they sped through the streets with the squad car, Craig learned that people adjoining Brown's office had telephoned for a police car complaining of a terrific rumpus going on in the Patent Attorney's office ... and how Blake had expected Cerulean to emerge from the elevator.

"Very amusing," chuckled Craig. "It'll make a good feature article for the Daily Record."

"Hold on," bellowed Blake in protest. "You can't print that. It would make me look like a sap. — Don't print it and maybe someday I'll return the favor."

The reporter shrugged." Well, if you feel that strongly about it, I'll forget the yarn... temporarily."

The conversation was cut short as they parked before the police station. As they emerged from the car an officer rushed up and exclaimed to Blake, "Have you heard? Biff Dugan has just been captured."

A happy grin quickly chased the glum expression from the Detective Sergeant.'s face. Biff was a long-sought murderer who had been eluding the law for months. "I knew we'd catch up with that rat," Blake chuckled.

Swift strides hurried Blake and Crent into the station. A few moments later the prisoner, an ugly hulking brute who sullenly refused to talk, stood before them.

"Thought you could evade the law, did you? demanded the sergeant. "Well, maybe you know better now."

Craig tugged at Blake's sleeve. "Remember, Sergeant, you offered to do me a favor. I'd like to take you on that up now."

Suspiciously, Blake inquired, "What?"

"Allow me to interview the prisoner in private."

"And what," asked Blake, "is wrong with interviewing him right here in front of me?"