BOB GETS READY
★
Adams plied the wounded man with questions, but all of the answers were
evasive and he finally turned to Bob.
“We’ll let him go for tonight. I’ll come back and see him tomorrow and
I’ll see him alone. I can make him talk.”
They left the room after admonishing the policeman on guard to remain on
the alert for any attempt to free the wounded man.
Out in the hallway Condon Adams confessed to his disappointment.
“I thought maybe he’d break and talk. He’s a weakling. I’ll get it out of
him later.”
“How much later?” asked Bob.
“That’s just it. I don’t know. It may be too late to help in the hunt for
your uncle.”
Down on the main floor of the hospital once more they telephoned for a
taxicab and when it appeared, gave the driver orders to go to Bob’s
hotel. They were silent on the trip back into the heart of the city and
when they reached the hotel Condon Adams registered for a room on the
same floor as those of Bob and his uncle.
Bob went directly to his own room and made a final inspection of the
articles in his Gladstone bag. The rifle and ammunition appeared intact
and he removed the revolver from the shoulder holster, cleaned it
carefully and refilled the chambers.
After that was done he inspected his coat. It appeared ruined beyond
repair for the revolver bullets had torn through the cloth and sparks
from the burning powder had extended the area of the damage.
Bob removed the suit he had been wearing and got into the comfortable and
rough and ready corduroys which he had brought with him. He laced up his
boots and then adjusted the shoulder holster, making sure that it would
swing free in case he faced any other emergencies similar to the one
which had confronted them a little more than an hour before.
Condon Adams tapped on the door and then came in.
“About ready to start for Atalissa?” he asked.
Bob nodded.
“I can get a southbound local at 3 a. m. After about three hours I change
to an accommodation train that finally winds up at Atalissa somewhere
around noon. Not a very pleasant ride, but I don’t want to attract
attention either by breezing in there in a car or a boat and as the roads
are none too good, I think the train is the best bet.”
“How about communications out of the village? You may need help in a
hurry?”
“I haven’t checked up on them,” confessed Bob.
The older federal agent went to the telephone and after a lengthy
conversation with the hotel clerk, secured the desired information.
“The telegraph office at the railroad station is open from eight o’clock
in the morning to five o’clock in the evening. The phone exchange, which
seems to be pretty much of a one horse affair, closes at nine o’clock in
the evening. If anything happens after that you’ll have to get the
operator out of bed in order to get a call through. I’m making my
headquarters here. Let me know the minute anything turns up.”
“I’ll do that,” promised Bob, who, while he could not exactly warm up to
Condon Adams, felt sure that the older man would bend every effort toward
the recovery of his uncle. “I’ll let you know where I can be reached in
Atalissa so you can get news to me the minute Uncle Merritt is found.”
Condon Adams glanced at his wrist watch.
“You haven’t much time to lose if you’re going to make that southbound
local.”
Bob looked at his own watch. It was 2:45 o’clock. He closed his Gladstone
bag and tightened the straps. Condon Adams walked ahead of him into the
hall and then as far as the elevator.
“Don’t take too many chances, Bob, and keep your chin up. This thing is
going to come out all right.”