Agent Nine Solves His First Case: A Story of the Daring Exploits of the G Men

by Graham M. Dean

  Chapter XIII BOB FIGHTS BACK *

  Bob's nerves were tight. The mystery of the turning knob had aroused andsharpened his senses and sleep was slow in coming to him again. He tossedfitfully on the bed, turning the pillow several times in an effort tofind a more comfortable place for his head. When he finally droppedasleep it was just before dawn.

  Once asleep, Bob fell into a heavy slumber that was finally broken by thestrident ringing of the telephone at the stand beside his bed. It waswith an effort that he sat up in bed and reached sleepily for theinstrument.

  "Hello," he said in a voice still drugged with sleep.

  Then all thoughts of sleep were swept from his mind by the message whichcame over the telephone. It was from his uncle.

  "The head of the bureau of investigation wants you to come down for aninterview at eleven o'clock," said Merritt Hughes. "Think you can makeit?"

  "What time is it now?" asked Bob.

  "Nine-thirty."

  "I'll be there with half an hour to spare," promised Bob. "I've got a lotto tell you."

  "Anything happen?" There was a note of anxiety in the question.

  "Not quite. Tell you about it later. Where will I meet you?"

  The federal agent named an office in the Department of Justice buildingand Bob promised to be there right after breakfast.

  He hung up the receiver and piled out of bed. His muscles were still alittle sore as a result of the encounter of the night before, but asnappy shower toned up his body and when he finished dressing he feltthat he was ready for anything the day might have in store in the way ofexcitement and adventure.

  Bob put on his topcoat and then removed the chair which he had wedgedunder the doorknob. In the cool light of the morning, the events of thenight before seemed fantastic yet he knew that one man was in jail whileanother was in a hospital.

  Bob stepped into the hall and carefully locked the door. More or less asa reaction he looked cautiously up and down the hall and then laughed athimself. It was just a plain hall and his fears seemed so ridiculous now.

  It was 9:45 o'clock when Bob stepped out of the apartment building. Hepaused a moment to turn down the brim of his hat for the glare of the sunwas too bright for unprotected eyes.

  Across the street a large, dark sedan was parked and several men wereapparently waiting for someone to emerge from the apartment houseopposite. Bob turned and strode down the street. There was ample time forhim to have a leisurely breakfast and still reach the Department ofJustice building with plenty of time to spare.

  The young filing clerk stopped at a nearby restaurant where he usuallyhad breakfast and ordered rolls and coffee. Several morning papers wereon the table and he scanned them with unusual interest.

  Washington reporters were unusually alert and it was just possible thatthey might have received some hint of what had taken place last night.Bob went through every page, but there was no story even remotelyconnected with the night before.

  He put down the papers and turned to his breakfast, wondering what thechief of the bureau of investigation wanted. Of course it must be linkedwith the radio document, but Bob felt that his uncle could adequatelygive all of the information needed.

  Then another thought flashed through his head. But it seemed ridiculous.Yet his uncle had mentioned only the night before that there was apossibility. Bob's great ambition was to become an agent of theDepartment of Justice and in that ambition Tully Ross was a bitter rival.

  Bob finished his breakfast and started walking toward the Department ofJustice building. The air was bracing and he swung along at a good pace,unaware of a sedan which was following at a discreet distance.

  The filing clerk turned a corner and started down a little used streetwhich was a short-cut toward his destination. As he turned, the carfollowing him spurted forward and closed in the distance. Bob was lessthan fifty feet down the block when the car swung around the corner. Thesqueal of the tires as the wheels were cramped caught Bob's attention andhe turned around to look at the sedan.

  He recognized the machine instantly. It was the car which had been parkedacross the street from his own apartment house. Something in theintentness of the driver and the alertness of the man beside him sent awave of apprehension pounding through Bob's veins. He felt sure that thecar was on that street for no good purpose and he was the only pedestrianin sight.

  Bob knew the short street thoroughly. Beside him was a rather high ironfence that protected a private home. Just inside the fence was a clump ofbarberry so thick they were almost a jungle of shrubbery. There was noprotection across the street and it was a good two hundred feet to theintersection where he could hope to obtain help.

  Bob heard the car slow down now and he steeled himself for what he feltwas going to be an unpleasant encounter. Just why he had that premonitionhe could never tell, but in later days, his hunches were to serve himwell.

  The driver of the sedan had a scar on his forehead while the passenger inthe front seat, who was nearest Bob, had red hair that frizzled out frombeneath a soft felt hat.

  The car stopped at the curb and the passenger jumped out, leaving thedoor open.

  "Say, buddy, I'm looking for an address near here. Maybe you can helpme."

  "Sorry, I'm afraid not. I'm in a hurry," retorted Bob, edging a littlecloser to the iron picket fence.

  "Oh, I guess you're not in such a hurry. Matter of fact, I've got alittle business with you. Ain't you a filing clerk down in the archivesdivision 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 withyou."

  Bob measured the other, wondering just how hard he would have to hit himto knock him out. The red head was about five feet eight tall, but wascompact.

  "We're going to take a little ride and talk. See?" There was a threat inevery 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 thewheel of the sedan. He started to get out of the car and Bob knew thatbetween 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 chopthat landed on the red-head's solar plexus. The blow caught the other mannapping and doubled him up. Bob was ready for him and a hard cross withhis left to the chin ended all thoughts of a fight which might have beenin the other's head.

  "Hey, you," yelled the driver. "You can't get away with that."

  Bob saw him reaching for his back pocket and tugging at something. Thatdecided Bob, who felt sure the other was reaching for a gun. Putting hishands on the fence, Bob vaulted the iron barrier.

  He landed in the tangle of barberry, but the shrubbery was so tall thathe crashed through and a protecting thicket shielded him from the eyes ofthe man on the other side of the fence.

  Without waiting to see what was happening in the street, Bob beat his waythrough the shrubbery. The thorns tore at his clothes and his hands weresoon streaked with scratches, but his thought was to get as far away aspossible in the shortest time.