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.”