“Say, buddy, I’m looking for an address near here. Maybe you can help me.”
“Sorry, I’m afraid not. I’m in a hurry,” retorted Bob, edging a little closer to the iron picket fence.
“Oh, I guess you’re not in such a hurry. Matter of fact, I’ve got a little business with you. Ain’t you a filing clerk down in the archives division of the War Department?”
“Maybe I am and then maybe I’m not.” Bob’s reply was crisp.
“Smart guy, huh? Well, I know who you are and I’ve got business with you.”
Bob measured the other, wondering just how hard he would have to hit him to knock him out. The red head was about five feet eight tall, but was compact.
“We’re going to take a little ride and talk. See?” There was a threat in every word.
“I’m not riding this morning,” he said firmly.
“Give him a crack on the noodle and drag him in,” called the man at the wheel of the sedan. He started to get out of the car and Bob knew that between the two of them they would be able to overpower him.
“You asked for it,” he muttered as his right swung in a short, hard chop that landed on the red-head’s solar plexus. The blow caught the other man napping and doubled him up. Bob was ready for him and a hard cross with his left to the chin ended all thoughts of a fight which might have been in the other’s head.