Chapter III

“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.