“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.