“What happened to your head?” demanded the lieutenant.
“They creased me with a bullet during the scrap back in Washington last night,” replied the federal agent grimly. “I want you to see their radio.”
He led them to the top floor of the old house where one room had been fitted up for broadcasting purposes. Bob knew little about radio, but he could tell that a great deal of money had been expended here.
“Where’s the aerial?” he asked.
“They used an underground antennae,” replied his uncle.
Lieutenant Gibbons picked up a heavy chair which was in the room and deliberately smashed the delicate equipment.
“I guess that’s the end of this station.”
“But we haven’t recovered the radio document,” groaned Bob.
“I rather think we have,” replied the lieutenant, pointing from a window to a cavalcade of cars which was approaching through a clearing.