Once inside the station, Bob hastened to the main desk where a night captain was on duty.
“I’m Bob Houston, special agent nine of the Department of Justice,” he explained, displaying the badge which he held in his hand. “It was necessary for me to reach here without loss of time and the driver of my cab ran through some red lights. Please see that any charges against him are dismissed.”
The night captain nodded and waved the motorcycle officer aside.
“Why all the hurry?” he asked.
“My uncle, a federal agent, walked out of the hotel this afternoon and failed to return. A few minutes ago I was warned that unless the federal men were taken off a certain case, he would never be seen alive again.”
“Think it was a fake threat?”
“No. It was serious enough. I traced the call to a public booth in a drug store down near the water front. The clerks were able to give me only a fair description of the man who made the call, but one of them told me a motorboat had started down river shortly after the man left.”
“Any description of the boat?” pressed the night captain.
“There was no one along the water front.”
“Then I’m afraid it’s going to be tough to pick up that boat. It’s as black as pitch tonight, but we’ll see what we can do.”