Chapter XIII

BOB FIGHTS BACK
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Bob’s nerves were tight. The mystery of the turning knob had aroused and sharpened his senses and sleep was slow in coming to him again. He tossed fitfully on the bed, turning the pillow several times in an effort to find a more comfortable place for his head. When he finally dropped asleep it was just before dawn.

Once asleep, Bob fell into a heavy slumber that was finally broken by the strident ringing of the telephone at the stand beside his bed. It was with an effort that he sat up in bed and reached sleepily for the instrument.

“Hello,” he said in a voice still drugged with sleep.

Then all thoughts of sleep were swept from his mind by the message which came over the telephone. It was from his uncle.

“The head of the bureau of investigation wants you to come down for an interview at eleven o’clock,” said Merritt Hughes. “Think you can make it?”

“What time is it now?” asked Bob.

“Nine-thirty.”

“I’ll be there with half an hour to spare,” promised Bob. “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

“Anything happen?” There was a note of anxiety in the question.

“Not quite. Tell you about it later. Where will I meet you?”

The federal agent named an office in the Department of Justice building and Bob promised to be there right after breakfast.

He hung up the receiver and piled out of bed. His muscles were still a little sore as a result of the encounter of the night before, but a snappy shower toned up his body and when he finished dressing he felt that he was ready for anything the day might have in store in the way of excitement and adventure.

Bob put on his topcoat and then removed the chair which he had wedged under the doorknob. In the cool light of the morning, the events of the night before seemed fantastic yet he knew that one man was in jail while another was in a hospital.

Bob stepped into the hall and carefully locked the door. More or less as a reaction he looked cautiously up and down the hall and then laughed at himself. It was just a plain hall and his fears seemed so ridiculous now.

It was 9:45 o’clock when Bob stepped out of the apartment building. He paused a moment to turn down the brim of his hat for the glare of the sun was too bright for unprotected eyes.

Across the street a large, dark sedan was parked and several men were apparently waiting for someone to emerge from the apartment house opposite. Bob turned and strode down the street. There was ample time for him to have a leisurely breakfast and still reach the Department of Justice building with plenty of time to spare.

The young filing clerk stopped at a nearby restaurant where he usually had breakfast and ordered rolls and coffee. Several morning papers were on the table and he scanned them with unusual interest.

Washington reporters were unusually alert and it was just possible that they might have received some hint of what had taken place last night. Bob went through every page, but there was no story even remotely connected with the night before.

He put down the papers and turned to his breakfast, wondering what the chief of the bureau of investigation wanted. Of course it must be linked with the radio document, but Bob felt that his uncle could adequately give all of the information needed.

Then another thought flashed through his head. But it seemed ridiculous. Yet his uncle had mentioned only the night before that there was a possibility. Bob’s great ambition was to become an agent of the Department of Justice and in that ambition Tully Ross was a bitter rival.

Bob finished his breakfast and started walking toward the Department of Justice building. The air was bracing and he swung along at a good pace, unaware of a sedan which was following at a discreet distance.

The filing clerk turned a corner and started down a little used street which was a short-cut toward his destination. As he turned, the car following him spurted forward and closed in the distance. Bob was less than fifty feet down the block when the car swung around the corner. The squeal of the tires as the wheels were cramped caught Bob’s attention and he turned around to look at the sedan.

He recognized the machine instantly. It was the car which had been parked across the street from his own apartment house. Something in the intentness of the driver and the alertness of the man beside him sent a wave of apprehension pounding through Bob’s veins. He felt sure that the car was on that street for no good purpose and he was the only pedestrian in sight.

Bob knew the short street thoroughly. Beside him was a rather high iron fence that protected a private home. Just inside the fence was a clump of barberry so thick they were almost a jungle of shrubbery. There was no protection across the street and it was a good two hundred feet to the intersection where he could hope to obtain help.

Bob heard the car slow down now and he steeled himself for what he felt was going to be an unpleasant encounter. Just why he had that premonition he could never tell, but in later days, his hunches were to serve him well.

The driver of the sedan had a scar on his forehead while the passenger in the front seat, who was nearest Bob, had red hair that frizzled out from beneath a soft felt hat.

The car stopped at the curb and the passenger jumped out, leaving the door open.

“Say, buddy, I’m looking for an address near here. Maybe you can help me.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid not. I’m in a hurry,” retorted Bob, edging a little closer to the iron picket fence.

“Oh, I guess you’re not in such a hurry. Matter of fact, I’ve got a little business with you. Ain’t you a filing clerk down in the archives division of the War Department?”

“Maybe I am and then maybe I’m not.” Bob’s reply was crisp.

“Smart guy, huh? Well, I know who you are and I’ve got business with you.”

Bob measured the other, wondering just how hard he would have to hit him to knock him out. The red head was about five feet eight tall, but was compact.

“We’re going to take a little ride and talk. See?” There was a threat in every word.

“I’m not riding this morning,” he said firmly.

“Give him a crack on the noodle and drag him in,” called the man at the wheel of the sedan. He started to get out of the car and Bob knew that between the two of them they would be able to overpower him.

“You asked for it,” he muttered as his right swung in a short, hard chop that landed on the red-head’s solar plexus. The blow caught the other man napping and doubled him up. Bob was ready for him and a hard cross with his left to the chin ended all thoughts of a fight which might have been in the other’s head.

“Hey, you,” yelled the driver. “You can’t get away with that.”

Bob saw him reaching for his back pocket and tugging at something. That decided Bob, who felt sure the other was reaching for a gun. Putting his hands on the fence, Bob vaulted the iron barrier.

He landed in the tangle of barberry, but the shrubbery was so tall that he crashed through and a protecting thicket shielded him from the eyes of the man on the other side of the fence.

Without waiting to see what was happening in the street, Bob beat his way through the shrubbery. The thorns tore at his clothes and his hands were soon streaked with scratches, but his thought was to get as far away as possible in the shortest time.