THE WARNING
★
“Gassed!” exclaimed Bob incredulously.
“Certainly. Tully got a full-sized dose and you probably got only half a
one, which accounts for the varying degrees of your illness and nausea.”
“But we couldn’t have been gassed,” replied Bob.
“Oh yes you could. Modern crooks sometimes turn to science to help them
and I know as a fact that small amounts of gas, which make the victim
desperately ill, can be obtained in thin glass capsules. These capsules
are so small they can be flipped off the end of a finger or thrown in
some other manner with great accuracy. If they strike near the nose, the
impact shatters them and the gas is released, causing a violent illness
which usually makes the victim unconscious.”
“That’s what happened,” cried Bob. “Why your explanation fits perfectly,
only I didn’t get a full dose. Perhaps there was too much fresh air in
the car I was in.”
“The pellet of glass might have struck you a glancing blow,” suggested
his uncle.
“How can you defend yourself against this?” asked Bob.
“The only safe way would be by a gas mask, but now that you know such
things can happen you can be on the lookout. If you ever feel a similar
impact that arouses your suspicion, don’t breathe, but rush to some other
spot before you take another gulp of air. That should enable you to
escape the gas.”
“I’m going to remember that,” promised Bob.
“Better take a nap now. After you wake up you can type out your detailed
report for Washington,” advised Merritt Hughes.
Bob didn’t especially relish the idea of sleeping when he felt he should
be on his way to Atalissa, but he was thoroughly relaxed and a great
fatigue had crept over him. So it was with real gratitude that he crept
in between crisp sheets. He was asleep in less than a minute. Some time
later his uncle looked in and pulled down the shades at the windows.
Later he went out for a time, and when he returned Bob was still in a
deep sleep. It was late afternoon before Bob finally roused from his
slumber, but he felt much like his former self. Of course there were a
few bruises and several strained muscles, but he could walk without
creaking in every joint.
Bob dressed and went into the adjoining room which his uncle occupied.
The federal agent had gone out several hours before, but his portable
typewriter was on a low table and Bob sat down and started to work on his
report which was to be air mailed to Washington.
The report was lengthy for Bob went into great detail and the afternoon
faded into early night. He snapped on a desk light and continued with his
work. When he was through he straightened up and stretched his arms for
he had been hunched over the typewriter for more than an hour and a half.
Bob leaned back in his chair and read the report with care, correcting an
occasional error which he had made in the manuscript. That done, he
addressed a large envelope, and went down to the desk in the lobby where
he secured air mail stamps and learned that by prompt mailing the letter
would be delivered in Washington the next morning.
Bob was hungry, but he waited for a time for his uncle. Now that he was
thoroughly rested, he was anxious to make plans for the trip to Atalissa.
After waiting in the lobby for half an hour, Bob went into the dining
room which opened to the right, leaving word where he could be found.
A supper with a fresh fish steak as the main course appeased his hunger
and he ate leisurely. A newsboy, walking through the restaurant,
attracted his attention and he purchased an evening paper, scanning the
headlines while he completed his meal with a chocolate sundae.
Bob wondered if the reporters had been tipped off by the trainmen as to
what had taken place the night before on the Southern Limited. He
searched every page of the paper, but there was no mention of the
disappearance of Joe Hamsa.
It was nearly mid-evening by the time Bob was through with his meal and
he returned to the lobby, inquiring for any possible information about
his uncle.
“He left about four o’clock,” said the clerk on duty. “I happened to see
him step into the street and he turned to the right. I’m positive he
hasn’t been back since then.”
Bob thanked the clerk for the information, meager though it was. It would
do no harm to go for a stroll and he stepped out into the street. Like
his uncle had done, he turned right on a street which led down to the
water front.
He soon found himself in a poorer part of the city. Street lights were
far apart and their globes dirty. Houses and shops seemed to be hiding
and the men who went along the street did not look up.
Two policemen strolled by and Bob whistled for he knew what it meant when
officers made their beat in pairs. He doubted whether his uncle had
visited this district and he turned and walked back to the hotel.
A clock was striking ten when Bob re-entered the lobby. He was almost at
the elevators when the clerk called to him.
“Telephone call just coming in for you,” he said. “You can answer here if
you wish.”
Bob hastened over to the desk. It must be his uncle, phoning to tell him
that he had been detained.
Bob picked up the instrument which the clerk handed him and placed the
receiver to his ear. A gruff voice spoke, “Is this Bob Houston?”
It was a strange voice and Bob tried to catalog its timbre, for it was
pitched unusually low.
“This is Bob Houston speaking,” he replied quietly.
“Then listen to what I’ve got to say. We’ve got your uncle and we’ll get
you and any other federal men who attempt to trail us. Get off this case
and stay off if you ever want to see him alive again and you can tell
that to Washington.”