“Then we’ll eat at the restaurant in the station,” decided his uncle.
Breakfast was served quickly after they placed their orders and Bob ate the meal with real relish. Corn cakes with a thick coating of maple syrup especially pleased him and he had a second order.
After the meal was finished, they walked through the main waiting room of the station and to the taxi stand just beyond where Merritt Hughes signalled for a vehicle, and they were soon speeding toward the hotel.
Bob, still stiff and sore from his encounter the night before with Joe Hamsa, leaned back against the cushions and enjoyed the trip, for this was his first visit to Florida. The streets were broad, the homes hospitable and life seemed to move at a more leisurely pace than it did in the northern cities with which he was familiar.
The hotel, a modest sized structure, was done in Spanish architecture and his uncle had two rooms on the fourth floor looking down on an inner court where there was a spacious swimming pool flanked by stubby palm trees.
“Now for a shower bath and I’ll feel like I really wanted to live again,” said Bob.
“I’ve got several reports to make out and mail to the bureau in Washington,” said his uncle, “and I’ll get them out of the way while you’re taking your shower.”
Bob undressed and adjusted the spray in the shower to his liking. For ten minutes he relaxed under the soothing flow of the water and when he finally emerged his muscles were not as sore and tight and his head felt clearer. As he rubbed his body briskly with a heavy towel, one thought troubled him. What had caused the sudden illness which had befallen Tully and later had nearly struck him down on the train? While he dressed, Bob told his uncle about these incidents.
“You say you felt something like a sharp blow on the face before you became ill?” asked the older federal agent.
“That’s right.”