“Say that again, Barney. There must be some mistake.” “There was,” grinned the sergeant. “Condon Adams made a mistake in questioning that fellow alone. Things certainly happened fast and furiously around here.” The federal agent shook his head. “We’re certainly not getting the breaks in this case,” he growled. “Where’s Adams?” “He’s out with one of the radio patrols.” “Have any idea where this fellow went when he made his break from the station here?” “He forced a passing motorist to pick him up, but we didn’t even get a good description of the car. Oh, it was a smooth job.” 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. Bob glimpsed the chart at the foot of the bed and learned that the guard’s name was Max Chervinka, and that he was fifty-three years old. Merritt Hughes sat down beside the bed, while Bob, behind him, leaned against the wall. “I’ll ask all the questions,” the federal agent told the guard. “Don’t talk unless you have to. Just nod a little in answer and that will do. Understand?” The guard smiled and nodded. “Had you noticed anything suspicious about the building recently?” The answer was negative. Then the federal agent plunged into his questions, how had the attack taken place, what did the man look like, was there more than one, had he seen anything of a paper which might have been tossed from an upper window? The answers were definite. The guard could not describe his assailant, as far as he knew there had been only one man, and he had not seen anything of a paper thrown from a window. “Have you ever been offered anything to let anyone in the building who had no business there?” The federal agent rapped out this question sharply and Bob knew that his uncle attached great importance to the answer.