“Let me explain,” protested Bob. “If you’ll only look in the case inside my coat you’ll find my identification papers. I’m a provisional federal agent.”
One of the police laughed scornfully.
“That’s a fine story. You’re only a kid.”
Bob was tired and worried now about his uncle. Hot tears of anger welled into his eyes and his voice trembled as he replied.
“You’d better take the time to make sure before you handcuff me. A federal agent has been kidnaped on this street and you’d better hunt for him instead of wasting your time on me.”
“Who was kidnaped?” the question was asked by a newcomer who had joined the group.
“My uncle, Merritt Hughes,” replied Bob. “He’s in the Department of Justice.”
“Say, maybe there is something to his story,” chimed in another officer. “I know there is a federal agent by the name of Hughes.”
“Then you’d better start looking for him. He was down at the end of this street a couple of minutes ago, the target for three gunmen. We were trapped here in the taxi that’s deserted over there.”
“Get busy, boys, and see what you can find,” ordered the sergeant who was in command of the squad. “I’ll take this boy down to the corner and we’ll phone the Department of Justice and check up on his story.”