The Radio Detectives Part 9

"You win!" cried Selwin. "Now about the bandits. Have you got them dead to rights, too?"

"Ask Pauling," replied Mr. Henderson. "He's the next witness."

"Here's my exhibit A," said Mr. Pauling, as he drew a creased paper from an inside pocket and placed it before the a.s.sembled officials.

"H-m-m, another threat, eh?" remarked the first one who examined it.

"Yes, commanding me to drop investigation of that hold-up gang that the police nabbed on West 16th St. last week. Nothing was said while the police were at it, but as soon as I took hold I received this."

"And written with the same old machine!" exclaimed Selwin. "All right, Pauling, I may be from Missouri, but you and Henderson have shown me.

Now let's plan a campaign."

"If these two notes were sent by the same man, as they appear to have been," remarked a quiet man who heretofore had said nothing but had been steadily consuming one black cigar after another by the process of chewing them between his strong white teeth, "then our game is right underfoot, so to speak-right in little old Manhattan probably."

"Bully for you, Meredith!" cried a small, wiry, nervous man, clapping the other familiarly on the back. "'The mills of the G.o.ds,' etc., you know. Where did you fish that idea from?"

"From some place you lack-a brain," retorted Meredith continuing to bite savagely at his cigar. "But, fooling aside," he went on, "it's a cinch he is. Henderson and Pauling get their notes only two days apart and, what's more, Pauling gets his within twenty-four hours after he starts that investigation. No time for word to get any other place and have a bit of typewritten paper get back."

"Huh! Then, according to you, all this red rubbish is also written right in the old home-town, eh?" snorted the thin man.

"Yep," replied Meredith. "Expect that's why we haven't nailed its source yet. Fact is, I believe there isn't any rum being smuggled in. Been stored here and just being distributed now. Bet we've all been walking over the trail star-gazing. So darned sure it was all coming in from outside we never thought of it being right alongside of us."

"That's a possibility," admitted Henderson and then, dropping their voices, the half dozen men earnestly discussed plans, offered suggestions, examined mysterious doc.u.ments stored in a hidden and ma.s.sive safe in the wall and pored over maps and diagrams which no one, outside of this inner circle, would ever see.

At the end of two hours, the conference broke up. The papers and doc.u.ments were replaced in their secret vault, the maps and diagrams were locked in a steel box and thrust in another safe and the men chatted on various matters, discussing the latest news, arguing the respective merits of motor cars, expressing opinions as to the next pennant winner, telling jokes and thoroughly enjoying themselves as if they had not a care in the world and were not literally carrying their lives in their hands day and night.

"What's that boy of yours doing in radio now?" asked Meredith, addressing Mr. Pauling when the conversation finally turned towards wireless. "Henderson was telling me about their 'radio detective' stuff.

Great kid-Tom."

"Oh, he and Frank Putney are working on a submarine radio scheme. I met a young chap at Na.s.sau with a new-fangled diving suit and he and the boys are trying to work out a radio outfit to use under water. Say, they're succeeding, too."

"Jove! that's a great scheme!" exclaimed another. "Under-sea wireless!

Well, I'll be hanged, what won't our kids be up to next!"

"Wish we'd had anything as good to tinker with when we were kids,"

declared Selwin. "I remember how every one laughed at Marconi when he first started wireless. My boy's crazy over it now. Well, I must be getting on."

Rising, Selwin slipped from the room, sauntered casually about the corridor, noted the seemingly inattentive janitor brushing imaginary dust from a window frame, knew that the lynx-eyed guard was on his job, and without a sign of recognition made his way to the elevator and the street. At intervals of half an hour or so the others left, some by the same corridor, others through an outer room, where an office boy seemed dozing in a chair over a lurid, paper-covered novel-but upon whose boyish, freckled cheeks a closely-shaven, heavy beard might have been detected by a near examination-while still others took a roundabout route and descended to the street on the opposite side of the building.

At last, only Mr. Pauling and Henderson were left and the two friends, glad of a chance to have a quiet smoke and to be free from care for a short time, sat chatting and talking over Mr. Pauling's last trip to the West Indies.

"It was positively baffling," stated Mr. Pauling in reply to a question.

"I knew they were filled to the gunwales with liquor and I knew as well as I wanted to that the cargo was going to the States and yet, when they got here and our men boarded them they were either empty or carried legitimate cargoes or else they never touched our ports and came back empty. It's common talk that the stuff is going to us, but no one has given away how it's done yet. Why, I even had one trailed-shadowed by a disguised cutter-and they kept her within sight for days and then I'll be hanged if she didn't come back without a sign of cargo. Now where did they land it? Only solution is they got cold feet and heaved it overboard."

"More likely they met some other craft during the night and transhipped," suggested Mr. Henderson. "I imagine that's how they get it in. Have some prearranged signal and spot and ship the stuff in at another port while they sail boldly into harbor. Of course we're watching for them and let up on other places and while we're boarding the suspect the other craft gets in on some unfrequented bit of coast and meets a truck or car. It's not hard. We can't guard _all_ the coast with our force and I'm sure that game's played sometimes, if not always.

We've taken a lot of stuff that afterwards proved to be colored water or cane-juice and of course they didn't bring that from Cuba or the Bahamas just for the sake of getting our goats."

"And then there were the Chinese," resumed Mr. Pauling. "Of course there we've another difficulty because, once set ash.o.r.e or near sh.o.r.e, John can look after himself and doesn't need a truck to carry him out of our sight. Just the same I'd give a lot to know the secret of their putting it over on us."

"I've often wondered if those boys-Tom and Frank-weren't right about that strange conversation they overheard," ruminated Mr. Henderson. "I'm morally certain they were all right in their cross bearings with their loops, although I didn't tell them so-and yet we found nothing there.

Have you asked the boys if they've heard anything more of it lately?"

"No, but I will," Mr. Pauling replied. "They've been so busy with this new idea I expect they've forgotten all about it. I promised I'd go down to see their- h.e.l.lo, there's the phone. Wonder who 'tis."

Leaning forward, Mr. Pauling drew the extension phone towards him, lifted the receiver and placed it at his ear.

"Yes, this is Mr. Pauling speaking," he said. Then his face blanched, his cigar dropped from his fingers and in anxious, frightened tones he cried, "What's that you say? Frank! What's that? Tom under water!

Calling for help! Having a fight with-with what? Never mind! Calling through the radio! Yes, I'll be down instantly!"

Slamming the receiver on its hook Mr. Pauling leaped to his feet.

"It's Frank!" he cried. "Says Tom's calling for help from under water.

Lord knows what's up! Send Jameson and a bunch of men. Order a patrol down. Rawlins' dock, foot of 28th. You know the place. Come yourself, too!"

Jerking open a drawer, Mr. Pauling grabbed up a heavy revolver, shoved it into his pocket, dashed through the door and as he pa.s.sed the supposed janitor gave a terse order. "Get inside!" he exclaimed, "Henderson needs you." The next instant he was plunging down the stairs.

With a bound he cleared the last few steps, hurtled like a football player through the pedestrians on the sidewalk, leaped into his waiting car and the next instant was violating every traffic law as he drove madly through the streets. Once only did he slacken speed when, as he rounded the corner, he caught a glimpse of one of his men and with a gesture summoned him. Instantly, the man obeyed, leaped on the running board and as the machine again darted ahead clambered in beside Mr.

Pauling.

Before Mr. Pauling's footsteps had sounded on the stairs, before the secret service man in the janitor's overalls could dodge inside the room, Mr. Henderson was talking over a private wire to the nearest police station. Ten seconds later, he was rushing downstairs with the erstwhile janitor at his heels and hard on the wake of Mr. Pauling's car his runabout went tearing in the same direction.

As they swung from Fourth Avenue into 28th St., gaping crowds lined the sidewalks craning their necks and peering down the street where, far ahead, the police patrol was startling the neighborhood with its clanging bell as it followed the lead of Mr. Pauling's car.

What had happened, what danger was menacing his boy, Mr. Pauling could not guess. But that Tom was in deadly peril he felt sure. Frank's agonized tones proved that, and while his incoherent, stammering words carried no explanation Mr. Pauling knew that his son was calling for aid from under the water, that something terrible had occurred. Through his mind had instantly flashed the threat of the bandit chief, the threat to make him sweat blood if he continued his investigations. Could it be that? Had the thugs captured or attacked Tom to injure his father? And where was Rawlins? With nerves already strained from overwork and failure to accomplish what the government demanded of him, Mr. Pauling, who was noted for his self-possession, his calmness and clear-headedness in the most trying and perilous moments, was now mad with fear and his teeth actually chattered with nervousness. His car, racing at break-neck speed, seemed almost to crawl. Every corner seemed to be purposely blocked by traffic. He thought he had never seen so many persons crossing the streets, so many slow-moving, horse-drawn vehicles impeding his progress. He cursed aloud, handled his levers with savage jerks, gritted his teeth and mentally prayed he would not be too late. Now, behind him, he could hear the clanging, oncoming patrol truck-he knew Henderson had lost no time. Before him lay the end of the street, the river and the docks. With a reckless twist he swung the car into the waterfront street, took the turn on two wheels, drove it diagonally, regardless of cursing truck-men, across the cobbled road, and with squealing brakes, brought it to a skidding stop by Rawlins' dock. Before it had lost headway he had leaped out, the detective at his side, and as he burst into the boys' workshop a crowd of blue-clad policemen were jumping from the still moving patrol and were crowding at his heels.

CHAPTER VII

THE CRY FROM THE DEPTHS

Henry watched Tom's head disappear, he saw the little silvery bubbles rising, for an instant he could distinguish the darker shadow in the water which marked his friend, and then nothing but the rippling green surface of the river was visible through the open trapdoor in the floor of the dock. He and Frank were alone, Tom and Rawlins were beneath the river, and yet, down there at the bottom of the gurgling water, the unseen two could hear every word spoken in the room above. It was marvelous, fantastic and almost incredible. But even more wonderful and impossible events were about to take place. Frank had already heard Tom's parting words over the set, although not a sound had issued from his helmet, and now, with the others under the water, Frank was again talking.

"Yes, I can hear you finely," he said. "Say, it's wonderful. Where are you? Right under the dock? I'm going to let Henry talk to you. I feel as if I were dreaming!"

As Henry listened at the set and Tom's words came to his ears he actually jumped, for he had never expected the words to come as plainly and distinctly as if Tom had been in the room with him and talking to him direct.

"That you, Henry?" came Tom's voice. "Gee, but it's great. I can hear you just as well as if I were up there. Does my voice sound loud?"

"Loud as if you were standing alongside of me," Henry a.s.sured him. "I can't believe you're really under water."

So, for some time, the three boys and Rawlins conversed, chatting and laughing, expressing their wonder and delight in boyish expletives and overjoyed at finding their plans and their work had proved such an immense success.

"We're going off a ways," announced Tom, at last. "Mr. Rawlins wants to find out how far away we can hear and send. We're going to walk down the river. You keep talking and after we've gone a few hundred yards we'll call you. If you don't reply that you heard us we'll keep walking back and trying until you do get us. Then we'll know our range."

For a time, the two boys on the dock kept up a steady conversation with Tom and Rawlins, and, much to their surprise, the sounds of their friends' voices continued as loud as when they were directly under the dock.

"It's a funny thing," remarked Frank during a lull in the under-sea conversation, "I thought they'd get out of range very soon. I never would have believed that these little fifty-meter waves could carry that far with only a two-foot grid for an aerial. The water must be a heap better for waves than the air."