The cab pulled up in front of the Department of Justice building and Bob paid the driver and stepped out. Several pedestrians going by looked at him curiously and he realized that he looked strangely unkempt. Bob stepped inside the building. His hands were smarting and he took out two clean handkerchiefs and wrapped them around his hands. There was still a little time before his appointment and he turned around and went to a nearby drug store where he explained that his hands had been scratched by barberry. A clerk recommended an antiseptic solution and Bob washed his hands thoroughly in this and then wrapped the handkerchiefs around them again. Back in the Department of Justice building, Bob was whisked to an upper floor and a boy guided him to the room he inquired for. There was no name on the glass panel of the doorway and Bob stepped inside, wondering just what kind of a reception he was going to have. There was no one in the room when he entered and he sat down in a chair near a window to wait. The door opened again and Tully Ross stepped in and stared at Bob. The surprise was mutual. “I didn’t expect to find you here,” exclaimed Tully, and there was no pleasure in his words. “Guess that goes for me, too,” replied Bob. Tully took a chair a few feet from Bob and conversation ended right then and there. For at least ten minutes no word was spoken until an inner door opened and Merritt Hughes entered. “Hello, Bob. Hello, Tully. You’re right on time. Mr. Edgar will be here in a few minutes.” 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.”