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A half-hour later detective headquarters at the Central Station received an
anonymous tip: "Send some one to the office of the International Machine
Company, on the second floor of West Superior Street."
It was ten thirty when Jimmy reached the plant. He entered the front door with
his own latchkey, pressed the button which lighted the stairway and the landing
above, and, ascending, went straight to Mr. Compton's office, turned the knob,
and opened the door, to find that the interior was dark.
"Strange," he thought, "that after sending for me the fellow didn't wait." As these
thoughts passed through his mind he fumbled on the wall for the switch, and,
finding it, flooded the office with light.
As he turned again toward the room he voiced a sudden exclamation of horror,
for on the floor beside his desk lay the body of Mason Compton! As Jimmy
stepped quickly toward Compton's body and kneeled beside it a man tiptoed
quietly up the front stairway, while another, having ascended from the rear, was
crossing the outer office with equal stealth.
Jimmy felt of Compton's face and hands. They were warm. And then he placed
his ear close against the man's breast, in order to see if he could detect the
beating of the heart. He was in this position when he was startled by a gruff voice
behind him.
"Put 'em up!" it admonished curtly, and Jimmy turned to see two men standing in
the doorway with pistols leveled at him.
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