Then another thought flashed through his head. But it seemed ridiculous. Yet his uncle had mentioned only the night before that there was a possibility. Bob’s great ambition was to become an agent of the Department of Justice and in that ambition Tully Ross was a bitter rival. Bob finished his breakfast and started walking toward the Department of Justice 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 street which was a short-cut toward his destination. As he turned, the car following him spurted forward and closed in the distance. Bob was less than fifty feet down the block when the car swung around the corner. The squeal of the tires as the wheels were cramped caught Bob’s attention and he turned around to look at the sedan. He recognized the machine instantly. It was the car which had been parked across the street from his own apartment house. Something in the intentness of the driver and the alertness of the man beside him sent a wave of apprehension pounding through Bob’s veins. He felt sure that the car was on that street for no good purpose and he was the only pedestrian in sight. Bob knew the short street thoroughly. Beside him was a rather high iron fence that protected a private home. Just inside the fence was a clump of barberry so thick they were almost a jungle of shrubbery. There was no protection across the street and it was a good two hundred feet to the intersection where he could hope to obtain help. Bob heard the car slow down now and he steeled himself for what he felt was going to be an unpleasant encounter. Just why he had that premonition he could never tell, but in later days, his hunches were to serve him well. The driver of the sedan had a scar on his forehead while the passenger in the front seat, who was nearest Bob, had red hair that frizzled out from beneath a soft felt hat. The car stopped at the curb and the passenger jumped out, leaving the door open. “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.