“Where?” demanded Hamsa.
“Lost in the brush,” fibbed Bob.
The answer seemed to satisfy them and Rap took the rifle from Bob’s hands.
“Take this gun and keep those fellows covered while Curt and I check over the stuff he brought in,” ordered Hamsa, handing his weapon to Rap while the fellow, whom he had called Curt, strode into the room and placed his black leather case on the rough table.
Bob gasped as the velvet lined case was opened and scores of gleaming diamonds were revealed. A king’s fortune was spread on the table in front of them and Hamsa, an ugly light in his eyes, looked at his captives.
“So you federal men thought you were smart enough for Joe Hamsa?” he chortled. “Well, this is your last assignment. You’ve seen me and you’ve seen how we bring in the stuff. This is my last job. I’ll make a cool million on it. Think it over.”
He turned back to the pile of gems and ran them through his stubby fingers, gloating at the wealth that was on the table.
“What are we going to do now?” asked Curt.
“Sink your plane and the gray boat. We’ll use the black one for a getaway and we’ll burn this place before we leave.”
“How about the federal men?” The flyer gestured toward Bob and the others.