“What next?” he asked.
“To the police station to interview that prisoner without any further loss of time,” was the decision.
The station was some distance away and they took a taxi. Before they had gone three blocks the hooting of police sirens fairly filled the air and their driver was forced to pull far over to the right as radio cars went racing past, each driver tense at his wheel and the other officer ready with a shotgun in his lap.
“Something big’s broken,” said the federal agent. “Be just my luck to have it an angle on this case. Oh well, we might as well go on to the station and see what we can dig out of your friend.”
As they reached the police station another squad car rushed away, its siren screaming a warning to traffic.
Merritt Hughes fairly tossed the cab fare at the driver and with Bob at his heels, ran into the building. The federal agent knew the desk sergeant and directed his questions at him.
“What’s up, Barney? Bank been robbed?”
“Just about as bad. Someone slugged one of your agents and made a break. Matter of fact, I guess it was a friend of yours.”
“Quit kidding, Barney. What happened?”
“The fellow you caught last night was being questioned by Condon Adams when all of a sudden he ups and smashes Adams a nasty crack on the chin, grabs his gun, and legs it out the door. We’ve got every squad car in town out hunting for him.”