Merritt Hughes turned to his nephew and Bob saw an expression of almost despair in his face. Then it was gone in a moment, and in its place was a set look of determination which Bob had often seen when his uncle was working on a big case.
“Anything I can do to help you here?” the federal agent asked the desk sergeant.
“Not a thing, unless this fellow comes back and tries to steal the station.”
“Then we’ll go along to the hospital and have a talk with the guard who was attacked last night.”
As they left the police station they could hear the echo of the sirens in the distance.
“Think he’ll get away?” asked Bob, who had spoken only once or twice during the entire time they had been in the station.
“I’m afraid so, especially since the police have no description of the car he commandeered,” replied Merritt Hughes.
When they reached the hospital, they were shown immediately to the room where the guard was a patient. He was a middle-aged man, his dark hair streaked with grey and there was a bandage around his forehead where he had received a particularly painful blow from his assailant.
“Can he be interviewed?” the federal agent asked the nurse on duty in the room.
“If he doesn’t talk too long,” she replied.