“This isn’t going to be easy to do, Bob,” he said, “but I’m counting on you going to your assignment at Atalissa at once. This gang must be about to pull off a really big job and I have a feeling the disappearance of your uncle is a step to keep federal men from concentrating further south along the coast. Get all of the information you can and turn it over to Condon Adams when he arrives. Then you continue south and Adams will take up the search for your uncle. As soon as additional men can be spared, they will be sent to aid you.”
Chapter XXII
A HARD ASSIGNMENT
★
It was a hard assignment to take, but Bob acquiesced. He would have preferred to remain in Jacksonville and search for his uncle, but he realized the logic in Waldo Edgar’s deductions.
“Keep in close touch with me, Bob, and if it looks like things are going to break down the coast, we’ll get help to you. Keep your chin up now, and give them all you’ve got.”
The receiver on the far end of the line clicked and Bob hung up the instrument he had used. The night captain stuck his head in the door.
“I’ve sent word to the coast guard to keep a close watch for any unusual boat. Maybe they’ll be able to turn up something.”
“But we don’t know it was an unusual boat,” protested Bob.
“Well, we didn’t have any description and I had to tell them something,” said the policeman.
They returned to the main desk. The night captain was curious.
“Lot of federal men coming in?” he asked.
But Bob was noncommittal. He would be going further south in a few hours and the search for clues here would be turned over to Condon Adams. One thing he did need, was a good revolver and ammunition for the rifle.
He made known his wants to the night captain.
“It isn’t the usual thing, but I guess we can fix you up,” said the policeman.
He called another officer to take charge of the desk and led the way into a rear room where there was a whole rack of guns.
“Look these over and take your choice.”
The night captain opened the case and Bob tried half a dozen revolvers in his hand until he found one that was balanced to suit him.
“This feels like a good gun,” he said. “I’ll take it.”
From another case the captain produced a generous supply of ammunition.
“There’s a range downstairs if you’d like to try your marksmanship,” he volunteered.
Bob knew that in the coming hours he might find himself in a position where a trusty gun would be a life saver and he accepted the captain’s invitation.
His finger was steady and the pressure on the trigger smooth. As a result he turned in a surprisingly good score and the policeman whistled when he saw the card Bob shot out.
“Good work, boy. Anytime you get tired of this federal manhunting just let me know and I’ll see that you have a job here.”
“Thanks a lot,” replied Bob. “I may have to call on you if this case isn’t solved successfully.”
When they returned upstairs the captain rummaged through the ammunition chest and finally found some cartridges which would fit Bob’s rifle. A shoulder holster was also borrowed and Bob adjusted the straps so that it fitted neatly under his coat.
After thanking the night captain for his assistance, Bob returned to the hotel. Another inquiry at the desk revealed that there had been no word from his uncle and Bob went upstairs.
His body was tired from the strain of the last few hours and he took a warm shower, topping it off with a cold spray that sent the blood tingling through his body. Then he dressed in fresh clothes and stretched out on the bed for a little relaxation before going to the train to meet Condon Adams.
Bob would have preferred to remain in Jacksonville to lead the hunt for his uncle, but he knew that Adams was both capable and ruthless and when a federal agent was kidnaped, personal feelings which Adams might have toward his uncle would vanish.
Bob mulled over the preceding events and the disappearance of his uncle strengthened his belief that Hamsa had survived his fall off the trestle and into the flood waters the night before. If Hamsa had not survived, Bob doubted if his uncle would have been abducted for he knew that Hamsa would be afraid of the results when his uncle and he got to comparing notes.
The feeling that some momentous activity by the smugglers was under way grew as Bob lay there on the bed. The leaders were desperate and yet courageous enough to attempt to do away with two federal agents and having failed to do that had kidnaped a third.
Bob got up and scanned a map of Florida which he had obtained. His finger ran along the coastline until he came to Atalissa. Then he traced on down to Nira where Tully had been assigned. It was a desolate, sparsely inhabited section of the coast—an area which in centuries before had probably been a favorite hiding place for bands of pirates who had roved the Spanish main. Numerous indentations dotted the coast, offering ample shelter to men who were afraid of the law.
With a start Bob noticed the time. It was after eleven o’clock. He was taking no chances and he adjusted the shoulder holster, filled the chambers of the revolver with shells, and slipped on his coat.
At the desk downstairs he left word for the clerk to take any message which might come for him. Then he sped toward the station in a taxi. When he arrived at the terminal he found that the train Condon Adams was coming on was half an hour late, for the tracks north were still soft from the heavy rain of the preceding night.
Bob sat down to wait for the arrival of the train and as the minutes slipped away he had the feeling that he was under observation. The hair along the back of his neck tingled and he wanted to turn around and stare at those back of him. Instead, he moved once or twice as though restless and finally stood up, stretched, and strolled over to the magazine stand, where he could turn around and see the entire concourse.
Bob picked up a magazine and skimmed through the pages with fingers that turned the sheets mechanically while his keen eyes roved over the room. Finally he came back to a lightly built man who had been leaning against a radiator somewhat to the right and back of the bench on which he had been seated.
The man was dressed in a poorly fitted dark suit, wore a cap, and moved restlessly. He was the only one in the scattered gathering of people in the station whom Bob would suspect of being there to watch him.
Just then the lights flashed over an incoming train board and Bob turned and walked toward the train gates. Passengers started coming through the gate and among the first was the bulky form of Condon Adams. Bob called to him and Adams turned aside.
“How’s Tully?” asked Bob, who was really concerned over the condition of the young federal agent.
Condon Adams’ face lighted up, for he was genuinely fond of his nephew and Bob’s inquiry touched a soft spot.
“Getting along fine,” he said. “Oh, he’s pretty sore and all that, but he’ll be able to continue on his assignment in two or three more days.”
“It was a tough break,” said Bob and Adams nodded.
“What’s been going on?” he asked.
“Plenty,” replied Bob. “My uncle was kidnaped earlier this evening.”
Adams dropped his bag and whirled to Bob.
“What’s that?” he demanded, as though unable to believe the words.
“My uncle disappeared this evening and everything points to a kidnaping by this gang of smugglers we’re after,” explained Bob.
Condon Adams threw back his head and laughed, but it was a grim sort of laugh that sent chills down Bob’s neck.
“Well that’s good,” snorted Adams. “Merritt Hughes, ace federal manhunter, kidnaped. I suppose I’ll have to hunt for him now instead of the kidnapers.”
“I guess that’s about the size of things,” replied Bob slowly. “I’ve been in touch with Washington. I’m to go on south to Atalissa on my original assignment and you are to take up the hunt here for him. I’ve already got the Jacksonville police on the case. When Tully comes out of the hospital, he is to continue to Nira as first ordered.”
“Let’s get some coffee,” said Condon Adams as they walked past the entrance of the station restaurant.
The older federal agent slid his traveling bag into a corner and dropped down into a chair.
“What a mess to get into,” he said, half to himself and half to Bob. Then he looked up.
“Your uncle means quite a lot to you?”
Bob nodded. “You know he does. He got me into the service and he’s pretty much of an older brother to me.”
A waitress took their orders before Adams spoke again.
“Then you know how I feel about Tully; he’s kind of a kid brother to me. But that’s getting away from what I started to say. Your uncle and I have always been rivals in the service. One of us would solve a good case and then the other would win on the next one. He’s never liked the way I got in through a little political help, but on the whole I’ve done a pretty good job. Gosh, I wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to him to take him out of the service.”
“He may be out for good now unless we can find him,” said Bob bitterly.
“That’s just it, and Bob, differences are going to be forgotten for the time. Why I wouldn’t be happy if your uncle and I weren’t in some kind of a scrap to see who could solve a new case. We’ll find him and we’ll find him soon.”
“Then you’ll work a hundred per cent on the case?” asked Bob.
“Day and night,” promised Condon Adams, reaching across the table to clasp Bob’s hand firmly in his own and Bob knew that the older agent was a man of his word and highly competent in his own peculiar way.
Cups of steaming coffee were set before them as well as the plate of doughnuts which Adams had ordered. They attacked the lunch with a will and Bob, draining his cup of coffee a few minutes later, caught another glimpse of the slender, slouching figure he had seen in the main waiting room.
“Don’t turn around,” he said to Adams, “but when we get up, look at the little fellow in the dark cap and suit. He’s outside looking in the window. I had a feeling in the station he was watching me.”
Condon Adams reached for the checks and stood up. In reaching for his traveling bag he was able to turn toward the broad glass window and get a good view of the man Bob had described.
“I’ve never seen him before,” said Adams, “but he doesn’t look like a very savory character.”
He paid the bill for their lunch and as they stepped out of the restaurant and looked for a cab, the man in the dark suit sidled up to them.
“You guys federal men?” he asked.
Bob and Condon Adams whirled toward him.
“What of it?” barked Adams.
“I was just askin’. If you are, I’ve got a message for you.”
“Who from?” it was Bob now.
The little man shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Fellow down on the water front gave me a note to give to the federals. Said one of them was at a hotel. When I inquired there I learned he’d gone to the station so I came along and thought I’d try you.”
He reached for an inner pocket and too late Bob divined what was happening. The street they were in was quiet now and suddenly there was danger in the air.
Chapter XXIII
SNAP AIM SCORES
★
Before Bob could reach for his own gun, the little man had whipped a snub-nosed automatic from a shoulder holster under his left shoulder and his eyes gleamed in the dim street light.
“How nice of you to tell me you were federals; saved me a lot of trouble. Smart guys, aren’t you? Well, get going toward that car on the other side and don’t make any bad steps.”
A cold rage gripped Bob. They had fallen into a neat trap and probably would soon be as helpless as his uncle, who had been kidnaped earlier in the evening. In the meantime, the smugglers would have ample time to run in a large sum of gems. Since they were willing to take the desperate chance of abducting three federal men, the amount must be tremendous.
Condon Adams started to set down his traveling bag, but a sharp command from the little man stopped him.
“Carry that bag and carry it carefully,” he snapped. “You guys are going for a long boat ride.”
They walked rapidly across the street. In fact, Bob was in a hurry to reach the car. For some reason they had not been searched and if he could get inside the sedan he might be able to slip the revolver out of his shoulder holster. Condon Adams lagged a little; perhaps suspecting what was in Bob’s mind.
The door of the sedan opened as they neared and Bob saw a man slouched at the wheel. There was no one else in the car and Bob stepped into the sedan, his muscles tense and his nerves cold.
“Stop!” the command was quiet but deadly and Bob halted halfway to the seat.
“Back up and back up slow; I’m taking no chances on gunplay.”
The driver of the car sat up quickly.
“Ain’t you searched them, Benny?” he asked.
“Shut up,” snapped the man on the pavement and Bob, stepping back gingerly now, caught a glimpse of the man with the gun. There was just a chance of success for a desperate play and he took the chance.
The gun in the shoulder holster was unfamiliar as was the holster, but Bob was half hidden by the darkness of the interior of the sedan. His right hand, moving like a flash, grasped the butt of the gun. Without attempting to pull it from the holster, Bob simply elevated the muzzle and pulled the trigger.
He fired by instinct as much as anything and a flash of flame stabbed the night. On the echo of the shot came a sharp cry and the man on the pavement leaped backward, his own gun replying.
Bob fired again and through the haze of smoke and the acrid smell of burning cloth saw the little man tumbling. The driver of the car swung toward Bob, but before he could get into the scrap, Bob jerked the gun from its holster and clubbed him over the head with the barrel. It was a savage blow, but he was dealing with men who knew no mercy themselves. The driver slumped forward in his seat and Bob, gun in hand, leaped from the car.
Condon Adams, who had been able to draw his own weapon, was leaning over the man on the street.
“Great work, Bob. I thought they were going to get away with this for a while.”
“Is he hurt badly?” asked Bob.
“Well, I don’t think he’s going to be doing any more mischief for a good long time. Your first one caught his right shoulder and the second one took his left leg—that’s what I’d call disabling a gangster.”
“It was spot shooting. I didn’t have time to aim,” explained Bob.
“Then I hope I’m not the target when you really aim,” said the older federal agent.
Chapter XXIV
AT THE HOSPITAL
★
A policeman on duty at the station, attracted by the shooting, came on the run and Condon Adams flashed his federal badge.
“Get an ambulance and get this man to a hospital. See that a heavy guard is placed at his bed. We’ll take the fellow in the car down to the central station with us and make a personal report.”
The federal men remained on the scene until an ambulance arrived. In the meantime Condon Adams had handcuffed the driver of the car, who was now regaining consciousness. He pushed him into the back seat, tossed in his own traveling bag, and with Bob driving the car, they started for the police station.
The trip was uneventful and they parked the car in front of the station where a few hours before Bob had telephoned the news of his uncle’s abduction to Washington. The same night captain was on duty and his eyes widened when he saw Bob and Condon Adams with their handcuffed prisoner.
Before the policeman could ply them with questions Condon Adams explained what had happened.
“Throw this fellow into a solitary cell; I’ll question him after I get back from the hospital,” he said.
“What charge shall I book him on?” asked the policeman.
“Attempted abduction of a federal officer,” snapped Adams, who then turned toward Bob.
“We’ll get over to the hospital now and see if the fellow you clipped with a couple of bullets is ready to talk.”
They hurried outside the station, but Adams stopped short when he saw the sedan at the curb.
“I forgot all about the car,” he said. “It’s probably stolen. I’ll report it to the captain.”
By the time the older federal agent was back Bob had a cab waiting at the curb and they told the driver to speed them to the hospital.
“If we can get either one of these fellows to talk, it may be the break that will open up this case,” mused Adams as the cab roared along the now almost deserted streets.
They pulled up at the hospital where a dim light glowed over the entrance. There was no general admittance at that hour of the night, but continued ringing of the bell brought an orderly and they gained admission.
Condon Adams revealed their identity to the night supervisor and asked the condition of the man who had been brought in.
“He’s resting fairly comfortably,” said the nurse. “The bullet in his shoulder has been removed and the one in his leg will be taken out in the morning.”
“Case serious?” pressed Adams.
“I wouldn’t say so,” replied the nurse cautiously, leading the way down the darkened corridor to a room where the lights were aglow. She opened the door and they stepped in, a nurse who had been near the bed rising as they entered. A policeman on the other side of the bed did likewise.
“Don’t make him talk too much,” cautioned the night supervisor.
Bob looked at the man who had attempted to kidnap them. His face was thin and marred with a sneer.
“You fellows can save your breath. I won’t talk,” he said, an unpleasant whine in his voice, and Bob catalogued him as a dangerous man when armed, but one who was weak physically.
“We’ll see about that,” said Adams confidently. “The boys down at the station are working over the fellow who was driving for you. If you don’t talk here, we’ll work you over when you get out.”
Bob knew that was only a threat, but he was interested in the reaction in the face of the man on the bed and he saw a weakening of the lines around the mouth as though the thought of physical punishment was unnerving.
Condon Adams must have sensed the same thing for he advanced with a threatening gesture of his fists and the man on the bed cringed away from him.
“You can’t hit me,” he cried.
“Maybe not, but I’d like to,” scowled Adams, and Bob knew that the older federal agent was sincere in that.
Chapter XXV
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.”
Chapter XXVI
“DON’T MOVE!”
★
Bob wished that he could feel the confidence of Condon Adams’ words as he stepped into the elevator and dropped toward the main floor. At the desk he turned in his room key and then took a taxi to the same station where earlier in the night, in company with Condon Adams, he had captured two of the suspected gem smugglers.
The young federal agent purchased his ticket for Atalissa and the agent cautioned him about the change at the junction. Then Bob picked up his bag and walked through the now practically deserted waiting room and out into the train shed where a stubby, three car train was waiting for the final call of “booo-ard” to start its jerking journey southward. An express car and a combination baggage and mail car were behind the engine while the rear car was a dimly lighted coach.
Bob climbed up the steps. The seats were of green plush, and halfway up the interior of the car was a wooden partition which marked the forward end of the coach as the smoking compartment. There were only two people in the rear half and Bob turned one seat over so a double seat would be available. Then he stuck his ticket in his hat band, folded up his corduroy coat for a pillow, and curled up to make the best of the lonely trip to Atalissa.
The federal agent had dropped into a light sleep when the train started. He roused up long enough to hear it roll over a bridge and then he went back to sleep, failing to hear the conductor when he removed the ticket from the band of his hat.
The local jerked and stopped and then jerked into motion again. This operation was repeated a number of times, but Bob slept heavily through it all, for his body was near exhaustion. It was well after dawn when he finally moved and he groaned softly as the blood started flowing once more through his cramped legs.
Bob sat up and massaged his legs and arms. It was quite clear out now and the local was rocking along a desolate stretch of Florida east coast. Somewhere along the line the other passengers had left the train and Bob was now the only occupant of the coach.
He got up and walked to the water cooler. Fortunately there was an ample supply of water and after bathing his face and hands with the cool liquid, he felt much refreshed though ravenously hungry.
Up ahead the engineer blasted his whistle for a highway crossing and Bob felt the air brakes go on, the old wooden coach jumping around in protest as the speed dropped sharply. They clacked over switches and Bob, looking ahead, could see a weather beaten station, on the other side of which another train was standing. This, he concluded, must be the junction.
The conductor, coming back from the baggage car, gave Bob his train check.
“Don’t have many passengers going to Atalissa,” he said. “Them that wants to get there usually go by car or boat.”
The local rocked to a creaking halt and Bob, his Gladstone in hand, stepped down on the cinder platform.
The accommodation which was to take him the rest of the way to Atalissa was on the other side of the station. The engine, an antiquated little affair, looked about like a teakettle, but the two freight cars and the passenger car on the back end were standard size equipment.
The conductor, in faded blue overalls, looked at Bob’s ticket.
“Guess you’re the only passenger,” he said. “Well, we might as well be going.”
“How about breakfast?” asked Bob.
“Hungry?” asked the conductor.
“Just about starved,” confessed Bob.
“Well, we stop at Ainsworth about ten miles down the line. There’s a little place there where you can get a bite to eat.”
There appeared to be nothing else to do so Bob climbed up the steps of the old wooden coach and put his Gladstone in the first seat at the rear. The engineer whistled a wheezy “high ball” and the conductor swung up on the back end as the accommodation started its daily run for the seacoast.
The air in the coach was stuffy and Bob found it pleasanter on the rear platform, watching the track wind away in the distance and they swung around curves and chugged their way up steep grades. It seemed incredible that in such a peaceful appearing country there must be located the headquarters for a relentless band of smugglers.
The second stop of the accommodation that morning was at Ainsworth and as the train slowed down for the station, the conductor came back and spoke to Bob.
“We’ll be here about fifteen minutes. That ought to give you time enough to get something to eat. Restaurant’s right back of the station.”
Bob estimated that Ainsworth must be a village of some two hundred souls and he was dubious about the quality of the food which he would obtain, but when he stepped inside the eating house he was agreeably surprised by the cleanliness and an elderly woman took his order with pleasing promptness.
Bob took a cold cereal, and ate it with relish while eggs and bacon sputtered on a stove in the kitchen. When they were ready he ordered coffee and several doughnuts.
“Don’t need to hurry too much, they won’t go away without you,” reassured the woman who waited on him.
But Bob finished in ample time to enjoy a leisurely walk back to the train. When he reentered the day coach he was surprised to find another occupant, a large, heavy-boned man with a faded mustache and thinning hair. What surprised Bob even more was to see a badge on the other’s vest and he strolled forward through the car. His eyes opened a little wider when he saw that the badge worn by the other said, “Sheriff.”
The water cooler was a convenient place to stop and Bob, studying the other man in leisure, drank two cups of water.
Suddenly the sheriff spoke.
“Now that you’ve about sized me up, what’s on your mind, Bud?”
Bob almost fell over backwards for he had tried to make his observation of the other man altogether casual.
“Nothing,” he managed to reply, but the word failed to carry conviction.
“Not trying to dodge the law, are you?” asked the sheriff, and Bob noticed that a perfectly capable looking gun was holstered under the other’s right shoulder.
“No,” said Bob.
“Then why are you carrying a gun?”
Bob started, almost guiltily, and his face flushed.
“That,” he retorted, “is none of your business.”
After the words were out he could almost have bitten his tongue in two for if the sheriff pressed him for an answer, he would be forced to reveal his identity and such things as local sheriffs being involved in crime was not altogether unknown.
“I’m making it my business right now,” snapped the older man and before Bob could move, a gun appeared in the other’s hands.
“Put up your hands and turn around. Do it slowly and you won’t be hurt, but if you make one false move, I’ll let you have it.”
Chapter XXVII
SHERIFF McCURDY TALKS
★
There was nothing else for Bob to do and with his hands raised high above his head, he turned slowly and faced the water cooler. He could imagine how Tully Ross would have chuckled if he could have seen his predicament now.
Firm hands whisked the gun out of the shoulder holster and Bob heard the sheriff step back.
“Turn around slowly now, but keep your hands up.”
Bob obeyed the command and the sheriff waved him toward a seat on the opposite side of the car.
“Now that you’ve got my gun, you’d better let me explain,” said Bob.
“You can do your explaining in jail,” retorted the sheriff. “No big-town gunman is going to run another trick on me.”
The last words were said with grim determination and Bob saw the sheriff’s jaw muscles tighten.
“Turn up the lapel of my coat and you’ll find that you’re making a mistake,” pressed Bob. “I’m an agent of the bureau of investigation of the United States Department of Justice.”
“You’re just a kid,” scoffed the older officer.
“Turn up the lapel of my coat and see what’s there. This thing has gone far enough,” insisted Bob.
There was something in Bob’s voice which forced the sheriff to act and he reached over cautiously and turned up the lapel of Bob’s coat. The small badge which was revealed there brought an instant change in his attitude and he lowered the gun which he held in his hands.
“Looks like I’ve made a bad mistake,” he said. “I’m sorry, but after what I’ve been through you can’t blame me.”
The sheriff, who introduced himself as Abel McCurdy, handed the gun back to Bob and the federal agent, after breaking open the gun and looking at the chambers, returned it to his shoulder holster.
“What’s happened?” asked Bob, for he recalled that only a minute earlier the sheriff hinted at some trick of which he had been the victim.
“Oh, it’s kind of a crazy story and I don’t suppose it would interest a federal man,” replied the older officer.
“I’m interested in anything that’s going on around here,” said Bob.
“Then you may run right smack into trouble,” cautioned the other, and he shook his head a little sadly. “That’s what was the matter with me—too interested in other people’s business.”
“Tell me what happened,” pressed Bob, for he had a feeling that in some way or another the sheriff might be connected with the smugglers who were known to be operating around Atalissa.
“There’s been some strange things going on along the coast,” began the sheriff, “and I’ve been trying to figure them out, but I didn’t have much luck until last night when I was south of Atalissa. A big touring car came roaring along the road and I stopped it. Car was going too fast.”
“What happened?” asked Bob.
“Too much,” admitted the sheriff. “Fellow driving got out, but when he did he had a machine gun in his hands and I wasn’t any match for that even though I’m a pretty good shot with a revolver. He handcuffed me with my own handcuffs and made me get into the back seat and then drove off like mad. After a while he stopped and blindfolded me, and then went on for a time.”
“What did he look like?” asked Bob.
“Well, he was kind of short and heavy, I’d say.” The sheriff went on with his description of the man who had kidnaped him and before he was through Bob was convinced that the other was Joe Hamsa.
Chapter XXVIII
THEORIES
★
Bob felt it was time to reveal his real mission to the seacoast and in clear, brief words he told the sheriff why he had come down from Washington and what had gone on since he had started south.
“You mean to say they had the nerve to kidnap your uncle, a federal agent?” asked the sheriff.
“I’m sure they have him and the only thing we know is that the start away from Jacksonville was made by boat.”
The sheriff nodded.
“That would be a good way. Why, I can think of half a hundred good places to hide a man along this section of the coast.” Then the sheriff went on to explain that shortly before dawn he had been dumped unceremoniously out of the sedan after being released from the handcuffs.
“Can you remember any stops?” asked Bob.
“Only one. We must have been very close to the ocean, for I was sure I could hear the sound of the surf.”
“Any idea in what direction you traveled?”
“Nothing that would help much. I was about two miles from Ainsworth when I was dumped out, and I went in there and got another gun and then decided to take the train to Atalissa for I was only about a mile from there when I was kidnaped last night.”
“Did you hear anything unusual when you stopped where you thought you could hear the surf?” pressed on Bob.
Sheriff McCurdy was silent for a time.
“Yes, there was one thing—a humming that was faint and then increased in strength and finally died away.”
“It might have been a ’plane,” suggested Bob.
“Why, I hadn’t thought of that. Sure, that’s just what it sounded like.”
“The driver of the car got out and came back a little after.”
“After the humming had died away?”
“That’s right,” agreed the sheriff.
Bob was elated at this news. He felt that even before his arrival at Atalissa he had stumbled upon a real clue and he hoped upon a worthy aid in the doughty southern sheriff.
“Then he went on, later dumping you out of the car?” pressed Bob.
The sheriff agreed.
“He was none too gentle in dumping me out,” complained the sheriff. “I’d just like to get my hands on him for a few minutes. Believe me, I’d make his bones ache.”
There was no question about the irritation or the sincerity of the officer and Bob couldn’t help but suppress a chuckle, for he believed the sheriff perfectly capable of manhandling Joe Hamsa.
Bob felt that the time had come to be perfectly frank with the sheriff.
“I’m down here on a smuggling case,” he explained. “I’m going to need your help and I may need it badly.”
Then he went on to relate in detail everything that had taken place since he had left Washington, revealing even the kidnaping of his uncle. When he was through the sheriff whistled through his whiskers.
“I’ve kind of suspected that something queer was going on south of Atalissa, but there were no complaints and I never was able to pick up anything. You think the fellow who kidnaped me was the man on the train with you when you came south?”
“From your description, I’m positive it was Hamsa,” replied Bob.
“Then he’s a tough customer if he escaped from that river and got down here so rapidly.”
“One thing we’ve got to remember,” cautioned Bob, “is that the gang is compact and apparently extremely well organized.”
The sheriff was silent for a time.
“Think that plane landing last night might have brought in smuggled gems?”