"Yes. That's the roof."
"Has your father got a safe?"
"No, he hasn't. For the love of mud, Fudge, come on home."
"Wait a minute." Fudge turned to the back of the brick block. "What's on the first floor here?"
"Ginter's Bakery."
"Then this door opens into that?"
"I don't know. I suppose so. What difference does it make?"
"It makes a lot of difference," replied Fudge with much dignity. "If it does, he'd have to pass through the bakery to get out this way, wouldn't he? And someone would be likely to see him. What we've got to find out is whether it does or doesn't." Fudge walked up the two stone steps and tried the latch. The door opened easily. Inside was silence and darkness. Fudge hesitated. "Maybe," he murmured, "we'd better try the front way first."
They did, Perry, for one, retracing his steps through the darkening alley with relief. At the main entrance of the building on G Street they climbed two flights of stairs, Fudge cautioning his companion against making too much noise, and, with assumed carelessness, loitered down the hall to the last door on the right. There were some five or
six offices on each side and several of them appeared
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