Bob went on to describe the start of their trip to the Department of Justice building.
“We saw a car following us, but we were holding our own until we turned into a street where there was a lot of repair work going on. Our taxi driver tried to get through, but the cab became stalled and he took to his heels.”
Bob paused a moment. The recent action in the street was so vivid that it was hard to describe.
“Uncle Merritt and I decided it would be better to try to make it alone and we parted just as these gunmen unloaded. I managed to crawl back to their car and when they started shooting at Uncle Merritt I took their car and rammed it down the street in an effort to attract their attention and give him a chance to escape.”
“Is there any chance that he got away?” asked the federal chief, leaning forward anxiously in his chair.
Bob shook his head.
“The last thing I remember was a single shot and then someone cried, ’We’ve got him.’ Then someone slugged me and I didn’t regain consciousness until the police arrived. They haven’t found a trace of him.”
“I was afraid that was the case,” said the federal chief. “We’ve swung a tight cordon around the entire city and I’m even having the airports checked. We won’t overlook a single angle. Something will turn up before morning.”
The telephone buzzed and the federal chief, seized it eagerly, but his face fell as some routine message came over the wire.
When he had completed the conversation, he turned toward Condon Adams.