“I guess now you’ll be content to go to bed and give us a little rest,” said the conductor when Bob reached his own berth.
“I’ve got to get off a telegram first,” replied Bob. “Give me the name of that stream and the correct time.”
The conductor supplied the information and Bob wrote a brief report of the night’s events and addressed it to Waldo Edgar, the chief of the division of investigation back in Washington.
“See that this message is dispatched at the first stop,” said Bob. Then he turned, crawled between the crisp, cool sheets, and dropped into a deep sleep of exhaustion.
Chapter XVIII
PICKING UP CLUES
★
When he awoke the Limited was pulling into the train shed at Jacksonville and his uncle, Merritt Hughes, was waiting for him on the platform.
The older federal agent jumped aboard the Limited before it came to a full stop and hastened down the aisle to the berth where Bob, still the only occupant of the car, was partially dressed.
“How are you, Bob?” There was real anxiety in the question as Merritt Hughes looked down on his capable young nephew.
“I’m a little stiff, but otherwise all right,” grinned Bob. “My bag is under the berth. See if you can find a clean shirt for me.”
“Never mind the shirt now. I want to know what happened last night. We got only the briefest word from Washington over the wires and Condon Adams left before dawn for the hospital up the line where they took Tully.”