e alley. Murphy
removed the padlock from the basement door and opened it with
precautionary slowness to minimize the rasping of the rusty hinges. He
closed it again when they had entered the impenetrable darkness of the
basement.

Led by Murphy, who held the flashlight, they went ahead on tiptoe until
they reached a spot which they judged was directly beneath the little
room in which they believed Cummings and Gibson were in surreptitious
conference. There they strained their ears to catch the sound of voices
above them. John's heart thumped against his ribs and he imagined his
breathing sounded like a gust of wind. The floor of the room above was
less than three feet above their heads.

A chair scraped on the floor. Then they heard voices. Tense, holding
their breath, they poised in utter silence, straining to distinguish
what was being said by the two in the room above their heads. John felt
a sinking sensation of disappointment as he realized it would be
impossible for them to hear the conversation between the "Gink" and
Gibson from where they were listening. The voices that came down to them
were jumbled, faint, indistinguishable. Once Gibson laughed. Again the
two voices above them stopped suddenly as if the two conspirators had
heard a warning sound.

Brennan signaled to them a moment later, when the two voices were
audible again, to leave. Murphy snapped the padlock on the door and
they crept back to their hiding place between the two buildings.

"There was no need for us to stay there any longer," said Brennan. "We
couldn't hear a word. There's only one way to get what we want and that
is to use a dictograph. We'll have to run a wire with an 'ear' on it
into that room, somehow. Do you think we can do it, Murphy?"

"Sure thing," Murphy replied.

"The sooner the better," said Brennan. "We'll try to get it in tomorrow
night. With a dictograph we can get every word that's said. We can bring
a shorthand reporter with us and get it down in black and white. In the
meantime we'll wait here and see them when they come out."

Shortly before one o'clock they heard footsteps that told them Gibson
and Cummings were returning from their conference. Directly opposite the
aperture between the two buildings, where they were hiding, the taller
of the two figures stopped and striking a match held the flame, cupped
in his two hands, to the end of a cigar. The light of the match
flickered only for a second, but in that time