MEAGER HOPES
★
Before Bob could reply he heard the receiver on the other end of the line
click. He whirled to the hotel clerk.
“Any idea where that call came from?” he asked.
“No.”
“Get the chief operator for me at once,” said Bob, pulling out his badge
to speed the clerk’s efforts. To the chief operator Bob explained who he
was and what he wanted.
“Hold the line,” said the telephone official.
Bob leaned his elbows hard against the desk. He needed the extra support
for he had suddenly gone weak all over. There had been grave menace in
the throaty voice which had come over the wire and he did not doubt the
truth of the threat.
It was entirely possible that his uncle had been captured by the
smugglers they were trailing and Bob knew, after his encounter with
Hamsa, that they were perfectly capable of using the most drastic means
to put out of the way any obstacle to the success of their plans.
The chief operator spoke again.
“Your call came from a pay station in a drug store near the water front.”
Bob obtained the name of the drug store and he whirled away from the desk
and ran outside to the taxi stand. He jumped into the first cab and gave
the address of the drug store.
“Step on it driver. I’ll clear you with any traffic officer that stops
us.”
“I’ve heard that story before,” grunted the driver as he shifted the
gears.
“This talks,” said Bob, shoving his badge into view of the driver.
“You said it, mister,” said the taxi man, and the cab leaped ahead as he
trod heavily on the accelerator.
The cab wove in and out of a web of traffic, then shot away down a dark
street, took several corners on two wheels, and after threading through
several narrower streets, drew up beside a well lighted corner drug
store.
“Wait here,” ordered Bob, jumping from the cab and hurrying into the
store.
Two clerks were on duty and Bob addressed himself to the older man.
Motioning toward the telephone booth at the rear of the store, he fired
his first question.
“Give me a description of the man who put in a call from here not more
than fifteen minutes ago.”
The man to whom Bob addressed the question appeared to resent his
intrusion, and his reply was far from courteous.
“You’ve got the wrong place and besides I don’t like you.”
That touched off Bob’s temper and his anger blazed.
“Give me the information I want and give it to me at once or you’re going
on a quick ride to jail. Who phoned from that booth?”
At the same time Bob revealed the metal shield in his hand which
identified him, and the entire attitude of the clerk changed.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a federal man in the first place?” he
grumbled.
“I want to know who made that call,” insisted Bob.
“Well, I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention. There were a couple of
other customers in the store. He was kind of tall, and about thirty-five
I’d say.”
“What kind of clothes was he wearing?”
“He had on a coverall suit and a dark hat.”
“How about his hair and eyes. Was there anything on his face that would
make it easy to identify him?”
The younger clerk spoke up.
“I noticed his low, deep voice,” he said, “and there was a little scar
just in front of one ear.”
“Which one?”
The clerk turned half away from Bob as though assuming the position in
which the stranger had appeared to him.
“It was the left ear,” he replied. “I’m sure about that now.”
“Notice anything else about him? Did he appear nervous or in a hurry to
get away?”
“He wasn’t exactly nervous, but after he came out of the booth he didn’t
linger around.”
“Did he have a car?”
“No, he walked in here, but just after he left I heard a motorboat
getting under way. You know it’s less than a block to the water front.”
There was no more information to be gained from the clerks in the store
and Bob returned to the street where the cab was waiting.
“Roll on down to the water front,” he told the driver.