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.