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?”