Chapter XXXIV

IN THE SHANTY
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Sheriff McCurdy turned from the wall and watched Bob open the door to the second room. He saw the young federal agent drop to his knees and his gun clatter while a choked sob escaped from Bob’s lips.

The sheriff crossed the room in several bounds and bent down over Bob, who was kneeling beside the bound and gagged figure of a man.

Without asking questions, the sheriff handed Bob a knife and the ropes and gag were slashed.

“Uncle Merritt, Uncle Merritt,” cried Bob. “Speak to me.” There was desperation in his voice.

Merritt Hughes opened his eyes and tried to smile. His lips and tongue were swollen from the gag, but the expression in his eyes gave Bob courage.

“We’d better get him out of here,” said Bob. “They’ll be back and we won’t be ready for them.”

Before they could turn, a harsh laugh echoed through the room and the heavy voice of Joe Hamsa lashed at them.

“You’re not going any place, boys, except where I want you to and you’ll never return from there.”

Bob started to move, but a quick command from Hamsa stopped him.

“Don’t move kid. I’ve got a machine gun on you and my finger is nervous. Turn around slowly and don’t either one of you try any gunplay.”

They started to turn slowly when Bob was amazed by a quick gesture of his uncle’s. Hidden in the heavy shadow of the little room which adjoined the larger one, he reached up and like a flash seized the revolver which was in the shoulder holster. There wasn’t even the rustle of Bob’s coat as the gun was whisked away and Bob continued to turn slowly toward Hamsa.

The man who had claimed to be a diamond salesman was standing in the doorway, a machine gun in his hands. Behind him was a man with a scar, whom Bob recognized from the descriptions obtained in Jacksonville must have been the abductor of his uncle. To the rear of these two was a slender chap, little older than Bob and with a thin face. He was in a flyer’s outfit and in his hands carried a soft leather case.

“Get their guns, Rap,” barked Hamsa, and the man with the scar came forward, his hands patting the sheriff for weapons. The gun was taken from the shoulder holster and the rifle was tossed across the room.

The man known as Rap then turned to Bob and his hands found the empty holster.

“Gun’s gone,” said Rap flatly and without expression.

“Where?” demanded Hamsa.

“Lost in the brush,” fibbed Bob.

The answer seemed to satisfy them and Rap took the rifle from Bob’s hands.

“Take this gun and keep those fellows covered while Curt and I check over the stuff he brought in,” ordered Hamsa, handing his weapon to Rap while the fellow, whom he had called Curt, strode into the room and placed his black leather case on the rough table.

Bob gasped as the velvet lined case was opened and scores of gleaming diamonds were revealed. A king’s fortune was spread on the table in front of them and Hamsa, an ugly light in his eyes, looked at his captives.

“So you federal men thought you were smart enough for Joe Hamsa?” he chortled. “Well, this is your last assignment. You’ve seen me and you’ve seen how we bring in the stuff. This is my last job. I’ll make a cool million on it. Think it over.”

He turned back to the pile of gems and ran them through his stubby fingers, gloating at the wealth that was on the table.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Curt.

“Sink your plane and the gray boat. We’ll use the black one for a getaway and we’ll burn this place before we leave.”

“How about the federal men?” The flyer gestured toward Bob and the others.

“Maybe we’ll sink them, too,” said Hamsa and there was deadly mirth in his words.

The man known as Rap started to laugh, but a sharp explosion back of Bob turned the laugh into a sob and Rap, gasping for breath, sank to the floor.