Lieutenant Gibbons pounded up the front steps and burst into the hallway. He joined Bob and together they resumed the frantic search of the house. The first floor was combed, room for room and closet by closet, and it was not until they reached a shed at the back of the house that they found what they were seeking. There, laying on a roll of dirty bedding, was Merritt Hughes, bound, gagged and with a red welt along one side of his head.
Bob, a cry of joy at finding his uncle on his lips, bent down to untie the gag while Lieutenant Gibbons slashed at the rope which fastened the federal agent’s wrists and ankles.
Together they helped Merritt Hughes to his feet. His tongue was badly swollen from the gag, but he managed to say a few words.
“Did they get away?” he asked slowly.
“Yes, but I don’t think they’ll get far. Agents are on their way from Baltimore and Washington,” said Bob.
“How about their radio?”
“The Department of Commerce heard them come on the air and gummed up their broadcasts,” replied Bob.
Lieutenant Gibbons, who had gone in search of water, returned with a tin cup and Merritt Hughes drank it with relish, taking slow, deep draughts of the refreshing liquid.
Then he bathed his face and hands and felt much refreshed. He looked quizzically at Bob and the lieutenant.
“You fellows may catch pneumonia running around here in wet clothes,” he warned.