“Water, please!”
Bob half propped the captive up and then turned in quest of some water. Anything halfway decent would do. Nearby a small torrent was coming from one of the drain spouts. It had been raining for hours, so the spouting should have been clean.
The filing clerk cupped his hands under the spout and got a double handful of water. This he carried back to the ledge and let it trickle into the other’s mouth.
He was just finishing his task when Arthur Jacobs, followed by half a dozen guards, appeared on the run, the beams from their flashlights cutting a broad swath of light through the darkness.
The guards picked up the captive and carried him inside. Blankets were produced, the wire was cut from his hands and feet. By this time Merritt Hughes, who had been notified, was down on the ground floor. He took charge immediately.
“Get this man to a hospital at once,” he directed. “Two of you go along to see that he talks with no one. Understand, no one. I’ll be around soon and talk with him as soon as they get him into bed and take every precaution to avoid pneumonia.”
Bob felt sorry for the guard. He had been stripped of his uniform, bound and gagged and had been helpless on the ledge for hours. It would be a miracle if he did not suffer an attack of pneumonia.
An ambulance, which had been summoned, arrived, and they saw the guard lifted into the vehicle. Two other guards climbed in beside him.
“Remember, no one is to talk with him until I arrive,” Merritt Hughes ordered.
As they turned to re-enter the building, the federal agent spoke to Bob.