Bob had seen Waldo Edgar, chief of the bureau of investigation of the Department of Justice several times, but he had never been introduced to him. Through the exploits of the bureau in recent months in tracking down some of the nation’s most notorious criminals, Edgar had become an almost legendary figure for it was from his office far up in the Department of Justice building, that he directed, by telephone, telegraph and radio, the great man hunts for the violators of the law.
Merritt Hughes looked at Bob’s hands.
“Hurt your hands in the fight last night?” he asked.
“Nothing like that,” replied Bob. “I got tangled up in a barberry hedge a few minutes ago and the thorns almost got the better of me. Guess I’ve ruined this suit.”
“What under the sun were you doing in a barberry hedge?” the federal agent wanted to know.
“Trying to get away from a couple of plug-uglies who seemed to want my company more than I wanted theirs.”
“No!” exclaimed his uncle incredulously.
“Yes!” retorted Bob with equal insistence. “I was taking a short-cut when a sedan pulled alongside me and one fellow got out and asked about an address. It was just a stall to get near me, but I had seen the car parked earlier just opposite the apartment. I was suspicious and when I thought he got insistent I let him have a couple. The driver started after me and when I thought he was reaching for a gun I went over the fence and dove through the barberry.”
Merritt Hughes whistled softly.
“This is serious. Have you reported it yet to the police?”