A flashlight gleamed for a moment at the taxi as the beam sought the interior.
“Nothing here,” Bob heard someone mutter as he backed away from the sheltering pile of materials.
A piece of board crunched under his feet and he stumbled and half fell to the ground.
“What’s that!” the exclamation was sharp and commanding and a beam of light swung toward him.
Bob forgot caution and scuttled away on his hands and feet, dodging behind the piles of dirt which had been heaped indiscriminately around the street.
The flashlight seemed to be playing a game of hide and seek with him, for not once did the beam strike him and he found temporary shelter again behind a pile of bricks.
But the sanctuary was not to last for long. From the voices near the taxi, Bob knew that at least three men were after them and as he listened he heard a command that sent a chill racing along his spine.
“Don’t shoot unless you have to. But let them have it if it looks like they’re going to get away.”
Bob remembered that his uncle had a gun. That was some consolation. He would have to depend upon his fists for self protection and right now both hands were sore and aching from his encounter earlier in the day with the thorns of the barberry.
The young federal agent crouched close to the ground listening for some sound that might indicate the whereabouts of his uncle. He only knew that Merritt Hughes had dodged out the other side of the taxi. Since then there had been no sign or noise to reveal where he had sought shelter.