“GOOD LUCK”
★
Bob and Tully left the office of the federal chief together and descended
in the same elevator to the first floor. Both of them were stirred by a
strong feeling of elation for this was their first assignment since
becoming federal agents.
Bob would have liked to talk the case over with his uncle, but he knew
now that Merritt Hughes was already on his way to Florida and whatever
Bob was to do on the case he would have to do alone.
“Seems to me you get all the best of these assignments,” grumbled Tully.
“I know something about Florida and Nira is just about the last place in
the world I want to go to.”
“I don’t see why you should complain,” said Bob, “even though Nira may
not be a very pleasant place, for you have a distinct advantage over me
since I have never been to Florida.”
They parted as they walked out of the building, and Bob, hailing a
taxicab, sped toward the apartment building where he made his home.
Packing was a comparatively simple thing for Bob. He pulled a serviceable
but battered Gladstone bag out of the closet and opened it upon the bed.
Fortunately he had a large supply of freshly laundered clothes and he
packed one side of the bag solid with shirts, socks and underwear. That
done he went back to the closet and rummaged around until he found an old
hunting outfit of corduroy trousers and coat.
From one corner of the closet he pulled a pair of heavy boots which were
soft and pliable. The woolen socks which he pulled from the boots had
been almost consumed by moths and Bob threw the socks away, making a
mental note that he would have to buy more either in Washington or when
he arrived in Florida.
On the third trip to the closet Bob returned with a well-worn gun case in
his hands. He opened the brown leather case and drew forth a special
hunting rifle which had been given to him by his uncle several years
before.
The gun had received excellent care as the gleaming barrel indicated, and
Bob, sitting down on the edge of the bed, caressed it with hands that
were almost affectionate. He had nicknamed the gun “Ezekiel” after an
eccentric old hunter he had known in his home town in Iowa.
Bob, although not a remarkable shot with a rifle, could be classed as
better than average, for his eyesight was good and his finger was steady
in its pull on the trigger.
The young federal agent examined the gun carefully. There was more than a
good chance that it might be called into use if his Florida trip
developed all of the possibilities Waldo Edgar had indicated. Bob sighted
through the barrel of the gun and smiled to himself as he noted the
cleanness of the bore, for he prided himself on the care which he had
given the weapon.
There was a small box of ammunition in the gun case and Bob examined the
shells. They had been in the case for three months but there was no
reason to believe that they had deteriorated for the gun case had been
kept in a warm, dry place.
Bob slipped the rifle back into the case, which was just long enough to
fit into his Gladstone bag. He folded up his corduroy outfit and placed
this on top of the rifle. Then the boots went in and on top of them he
jammed several soft flannel shirts that could be worn a reasonable time
without laundering. It was impossible to foretell just what he would
encounter in Florida and he wanted to be prepared for every possible
emergency.
The packing had taken longer than Bob had expected and when he looked at
his watch he realized that there was little time to lose if he expected
to reach the justice department building for his one o’clock appointment.
Bob jammed his shaving outfit in on top of his clothes and closed the
bag. It fairly bulged with the articles he had packed away and the big
case was both clumsy and heavy to carry.
Bob looked around his room as he paused at the door. It might be weeks
before he would return and he would miss the orderly pleasantness of the
room with his comfortable chair and his excellent books.
Then he closed and locked the door and walked down the hallway as rapidly
as he could with his heavy bag. He summoned a taxi and started for the
Department of Justice Building where detailed instructions were awaiting
him.
The ride down town took less than ten minutes and Bob reached the
building at five minutes to one, just in time to see Tully Ross precede
him through the main entrance.
Bob paid his taxi fare and then left his heavy bag at the information
desk on the main floor while he was whirled upward in an elevator. The
same clerk who had greeted him that morning was on duty in the outer
office and Tully, seated on a bench, was opening a large Manila envelope.
“Your instructions, train tickets, expense money and data on the case are
all in this envelope,” said the clerk, handing a similar container to
Bob. “Your train leaves at 1:30 so I suggest that you get to the station
at once and then go into the details of this case after you are on your
way south.”
“Thanks a lot,” nodded Bob. “I’m on my way.”
“Good luck,” said the clerk, who looked enviously after Bob, for after
all there were not very many thrills in clerical work.