MEAGER HOPES
★
Merritt Hughes stared hard at the police sergeant as though he dared not
believe the officer’s words.
“Say that again, Barney. There must be some mistake.”
“There was,” grinned the sergeant. “Condon Adams made a mistake in
questioning that fellow alone. Things certainly happened fast and
furiously around here.”
The federal agent shook his head.
“We’re certainly not getting the breaks in this case,” he growled.
“Where’s Adams?”
“He’s out with one of the radio patrols.”
“Have any idea where this fellow went when he made his break from the
station here?”
“He forced a passing motorist to pick him up, but we didn’t even get a
good description of the car. Oh, it was a smooth job.”
Merritt Hughes turned to his nephew and Bob saw an expression of almost
despair in his face. Then it was gone in a moment, and in its place was a
set look of determination which Bob had often seen when his uncle was
working on a big case.
“Anything I can do to help you here?” the federal agent asked the desk
sergeant.
“Not a thing, unless this fellow comes back and tries to steal the
station.”
“Then we’ll go along to the hospital and have a talk with the guard who
was attacked last night.”
As they left the police station they could hear the echo of the sirens in
the distance.
“Think he’ll get away?” asked Bob, who had spoken only once or twice
during the entire time they had been in the station.
“I’m afraid so, especially since the police have no description of the
car he commandeered,” replied Merritt Hughes.
When they reached the hospital, they were shown immediately to the room
where the guard was a patient. He was a middle-aged man, his dark hair
streaked with grey and there was a bandage around his forehead where he
had received a particularly painful blow from his assailant.
“Can he be interviewed?” the federal agent asked the nurse on duty in the
room.
“If he doesn’t talk too long,” she replied.
Bob glimpsed the chart at the foot of the bed and learned that the
guard’s name was Max Chervinka, and that he was fifty-three years old.
Merritt Hughes sat down beside the bed, while Bob, behind him, leaned
against the wall.
“I’ll ask all the questions,” the federal agent told the guard. “Don’t
talk unless you have to. Just nod a little in answer and that will do.
Understand?”
The guard smiled and nodded.
“Had you noticed anything suspicious about the building recently?”
The answer was negative. Then the federal agent plunged into his
questions, how had the attack taken place, what did the man look like,
was there more than one, had he seen anything of a paper which might have
been tossed from an upper window?
The answers were definite. The guard could not describe his assailant, as
far as he knew there had been only one man, and he had not seen anything
of a paper thrown from a window.
“Have you ever been offered anything to let anyone in the building who
had no business there?” The federal agent rapped out this question
sharply and Bob knew that his uncle attached great importance to the
answer.
“Never!” The guard’s reply, though in a weak voice, was definite. “There
was never any trouble until last night,” he added.
The nurse re-entered the room, noticed the bright eyes and the flushed
cheeks of her patient, and spoke to the federal agents.
“I think he’s had all of the exertion he can stand for a while,” she
said. “Later, perhaps this evening, you might call again if you like.”
“Has anyone else been here?” asked Merritt Hughes.
“Not yet.”
“Then don’t allow anyone to see him unless he can identify himself as a
Department of Justice agent,” he instructed.
When they were down on the main floor, Bob spoke.
“Why did you instruct the nurse like that?”
“Just playing safe. We know that the guard didn’t see enough of his
assailant to identify him, but other members of that gang don’t know
that. There is no use in exposing that fellow to any unnecessary risks.”
When they were outside once more, Bob voiced another question.
“What do you want me to do now?”
“Better go down to your own office and step back into the routine. But
keep your eyes open. Listen to everything that is going on, but don’t let
anyone get anything out of you. Phone me before you leave this afternoon
to go home. I don’t want you gallivanting around this town all alone. The
next time some of your ’friends’ may come along and there may not be a
fence and a thicket of barberry handy.”
“I’ll take a taxi home; you won’t need to come for me,” protested Bob.
“You’re not going to take a taxi home and you’re not going home. Until
this thing is cleared up you’re going to stay with me. Then if anyone
decides to pay us a visit in the middle of the night we’ll give them a
surprise.”
“Let me know if anything big breaks,” urged Bob, and his uncle promised
to do this.
After their parting, Bob walked down the street alone. A police car sped
by, but its siren was not sounding an alarm, and Bob wondered if the rush
of the first chase for the escaped prisoner was over.
As he hurried toward the archives building, he pondered the events of the
last 24 hours. It seemed almost incredible that so much could have
happened; that he could have been involved in so many different and
exciting things. And now he was a federal agent. True he was only on
provisional duty, but if he made good, there was an excellent chance that
he would become a permanent member of the great crime-fighting
organization.
His uncle had been right—so far the breaks had all been against them and
now the one man on whom they had been counting for information had
slipped away. But Bob couldn’t help a grin as he thought of the chagrin
which Condon Adams must be suffering now. It would be hard to explain
that escape from the very heart of a police station.
Bob turned into the building where his own office was located and took
the elevator to the top floor.
When he entered the office he almost bumped into Arthur Jacobs, the
filing chief.
“Any news?” asked Jacobs anxiously and Bob shook his head.
“What about the prisoner captured last night?”
“Don’t you know?” asked Bob.
“Know what?” demanded the filing chief.
“He just escaped from the police station.”
“Then we’re sunk,” groaned the filing chief. “That means that paper is
gone for good and I’ll bet my job is too.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Give the federal men a chance.”
“But they’ve had nearly 24 hours,” wailed the chubby Jacobs.
“You can’t expect them to do miracles in that length of time,” cautioned
Bob.
Before the filing chief could reply, the door swung inward and Tully Ross
hurried in.
His face was flushed and he appeared to be laboring under some great
excitement.
Arthur Jacobs looked at his watch.
“You might just as well have taken the whole day off,” he snapped.
“Well, maybe I will,” retorted Tully.
“I guess that’s about enough from you,” said the filing chief. “I’ll find
plenty of extra work for you to do and you may change your attitude and
show a little respect.”
A dark wave of color swept over Tully’s face and Bob saw his fists
clench. He stepped closer to Jacobs.
“I’ll get here just when I please,” he stormed, “and don’t think I’m
going to let you boss me around. I’m a federal agent now and I’m working
on a big case. Don’t you forget that.”
But in spite of the bravado, Arthur Jacobs stood his ground.
“I don’t care what you are,” he replied. “As far as I know you’re nothing
but a clerk in my department and you’ll get to work on time and you’ll be
respectful or you’ll get another job.”
“If you don’t believe I’m a federal agent, ask Bob; he’ll tell you.”
The filing chief turned to Bob.
“Tully is right. I saw him sworn into the service today,” said Bob. He
was glad that Jacobs had not asked him about his own position.
Tully seemed satisfied and his anger subsided when Jacobs once more told
him to go to his desk and start work.
Bob glanced at the other clerks in the room. All of them had been
covertly watching the entire proceedings. Bob felt that they were all
trustworthy, but he felt better in knowing that they were not aware that
he was a federal agent. Such knowledge might have spoiled any later
efforts of his to gain information from them.