RADIO WINS
As the confused sounds, the crash, the tramp of rushing feet, the
excited men’s voices and Frank’s high-pitched tones came dimly to Tom’s
ears, a deadly sickening fear swept over him. Had they escaped the men
from the submarine only to fall into the clutches of their confederates?
He had been under a tremendous strain, he had been terribly frightened,
his heart had been almost bursting with excitement and he had been under
water for much longer than ever before. The combination was too much for
him. His head swam, he reeled, swayed; fiery sparks and flashes seemed
to dance before his eyes; he felt a numbness stealing over him. Wildly
he clutched at the ladder in a last despairing effort and seemed
sinking, slowly, softly into a vast billowy void.
He opened his eyes and uttered a surprised cry. He was lying on the
floor of the laboratory and his father, anxious-eyed, was bending over
him while close at hand were Frank, Henry and Rawlins. Beyond and as a
confused mass Tom’s eyes saw blue-clad figures and with a start he rose
to a sitting posture.
“Gosh!” he exclaimed, staring about and for the moment not
comprehending. “What’s the matter, Dad? What’s happened?”
“Are you all right, Tom?” asked Mr. Pauling. “We got you just in time.
You fainted just as you reached the ladder top. Don’t you remember?”
Tom’s senses had now fully returned.
“Yes, Dad,” he replied. “I do now. Did Mr. Rawlins tell you about it?
Gee! We _did_ have a time! Are those men here?”
“Safe and sound, Tom!” Mr. Henderson’s voice assured him. “That is, one
of ’em is. The other’s in bad shape.”
“Yes, Rawlins told us something of what happened,” put in his father as
Tom rose unsteadily to his feet. “Look out, Son! You’re weak yet. Sit
down or you’ll go off again.”
Leaning on his father’s arm, Tom staggered to the proffered chair and
dropped weakly into it. Then he gazed about the room and at the crowd of
men within it.
His father and Mr. Henderson, Rawlins, Frank and Henry were there.
Near-by, was a strange, heavy-jawed man and beyond, near the door, were
half a dozen policemen. But where were the two divers they had captured
under the river? Then Tom saw that a heavily built, tow-headed man stood
between two of the blue coats, his hands manacled and a sullen glare in
his piglike eyes while, half hidden beyond two stooping men, was a form
stretched upon the floor. But before he could form a question his father
was giving quick sharp orders to the men.
“Get the Navy Yard!” he commanded, and as the heavy-jawed man jumped to
the telephone, he snapped out: “Tell the commandant that Pauling’s
speaking.” Then, before the operator had even asked the number, Mr.
Pauling was uttering commands to the police. “Leave a couple of men here
to guard the prisoners and get over to that block quick as you can. Get
all available men you can pick up. Draw a cordon around it and don’t let
any one in or out. Take my car! It’s up to you fellows to nab this
bunch—if they haven’t got wise. On the jump now, Reilly! Take every one
and everything that seems suspicious! Get me?”
Even before his last word rang out the policemen were hurrying towards
the street, and an instant later, Tom heard the roar of their motor and
the clang of their bell as the patrol dashed off.
“Navy Yard on the wire!” announced the man at the phone and Mr. Pauling
grabbed the receiver.
“This is Pauling!” he announced shortly. “That you, Admiral? All right!
Got important matter.”
Then, to Tom’s amazement, his father broke into the most utter
gibberish, calling out a confused but rapid list of figures and words.
“That’s done!” he exclaimed, as he slammed back the receiver and turned
towards Tom. “There’ll be a dozen destroyers and chasers combing the sea
for that sub within fifteen minutes.” Then, with a different note in his
voice, he asked, “Do you feel all right, Son?”
As Tom answered, his father turned towards the men bending above the
figure on the floor. “Come here when you have a chance, Doctor,” he
called. “Want you to have a look at my boy.”
At his words, one of the men rose and hurried to Tom’s side.
“Had a close call, my boy!” he exclaimed, as he took Tom’s wrist and
drew out his watch. “Good thing Rawlins fixed up these suits so you
couldn’t inhale flames. Different case with that chap yonder. He’s in
bad shape. Trying to fix him up to get him to hospital. Afraid there’s
no hope for him though! Oh, you’re O. K. Fit as a fiddle! Pulse fine!
Nothing wrong with him, Pauling. Just a bit of nerves, I expect, and
strain of being down too long.”
Hurrying from Tom’s side he again devoted himself to the injured man.
Things were moving so rapidly that Tom was dazed and was striving his
best to gather his wits together and to understand all that was taking
place. Mr. Henderson and Rawlins were talking earnestly in low tones,
but Tom could not hear a word they said and was busy replying to his
father’s, Henry’s and Frank’s questions and plying them with queries in
turn.
Presently Rawlins and Mr. Henderson rose and as the former came to Tom’s
side the other strode across the room and, facing the prisoner, stared
fixedly into his face.
“I guess you’re all right, Tom,” said Rawlins, the tone of his voice
betraying far more solicitude than was conveyed by his words. “You’re
some kid, I’ll tell the world! You’ll be famous if you don’t watch out.
Say, old man, I’m mighty sorry I kept you down so long. Never thought
about you not being accustomed to it. I was so darned interested in that
sub and those men I forgot about the danger to you, Tom. And say, Mr.
Henderson thinks we’ve made some haul! I’ve been telling him the whole
yarn—the Dutch talk and all the rest. Henderson thinks he recognizes
that Hun we brought up and sees a big plot behind all this. Too bad the
other fellow got flames and can’t talk. Your radio’s all to the mustard,
I’ll say!”
At this moment Mr. Henderson’s voice interrupted them. As he had stared
searchingly but silently at the prisoner the latter’s shifty eyes had
fallen and he shuffled his feet uneasily. Then, without warning and so
suddenly Tom and the others jumped, Henderson snapped out:
“Open your mouth!”
So unexpected was the command that the prisoner, long trained to instant
and implicit obedience to orders, involuntarily threw back his head
opened his enormous mouth.
“Thought so!” ejaculated Mr. Henderson and then, even before the
surprised man’s jaws closed, he yanked aside the fellow’s denim shirt
exposing the hairy freckled chest with a livid white scar diagonally
across it.
“That’s enough!” snapped out Mr. Henderson. Then, addressing Tom’s
father he remarked, “It’s he, Pauling. No question of it. Good day’s
work this—thanks to Rawlins’ suits and Tom’s under-sea radio.”
“Wha-what’s it all about?” demanded Tom, absolutely at a loss to grasp
the meaning of all the orders, the strange telephone message and Mr.
Henderson’s statements. “Who _are_ the men and _what_ were they doing?”
“Never mind now,” replied his father. “We’ll get home first. Feel ready
to go?”
“Oh, I’m all right now,” declared Tom. “Only a bit tired out.”
“Call for a couple of plain-clothes men to stay here,” Mr. Pauling
ordered, turning towards the heavy-jawed man. “Don’t want any one
meddling with the instruments. Keep that trap shut and bolted and don’t
sleep on the job.”
Then, to the surgeons, “Soon as he comes to and can talk, call me up. If
he says anything, write it down. Don’t let any one—any one, mind
you—speak with him.”
The surgeon nodded in assent and as the other man again went to the
telephone Mr. Pauling and Rawlins half lifted Tom, and, accompanied by
Frank, Henry and Mr. Henderson, the party left the workshop. Already the
two policemen had left with their prisoner and were pressing through a
curious crowd which had gathered outside and which was held in check by
more stalwart, blue-coated men.
“Gosh! you’ve got the whole of the New York police here!” exclaimed Tom.
“Not quite that,” laughed his father, “but Henderson surely did call
enough of them. Guess they thought we were going to raid a liner.”
“Well, you didn’t name any limit,” replied Mr. Henderson chuckling. “You
said ‘call the police’ and I called ’em. Might as well be on the safe
side, you know.”
As Mr. Pauling helped Tom into Mr. Henderson’s car he saw the man whom
Rawlins had captured in his spectacular battle under the river being
shoved into a patrol wagon.
“Do tell me who he is,” begged Tom. “Is he a German spy?”
His father laughed. “You’ve forgotten the war’s over and done with and
there are no spies,” he replied. “No, my boy, he’s not even a German.
But you’ll have to wait a bit before I can tell you anything more.”
“Well, where did you send those policemen, then?” asked Tom. “You can
tell me that.”
Mr. Pauling’s eyes twinkled. “They’ve gone to get your phantom radio
man,” he replied. “Henderson’s men couldn’t find him before, but I’ll
wager we located him this time. You see, Reilly happened to know about
that old sewer and he says it runs under the block where you located the
sender of those odd messages. Henderson thinks if he finds one he’ll
find the other. We’ll run around past there and see if anything is
happening.”
As Frank and Henry crowded into the little car, the boys saw a stretcher
bearing a shrouded form being carried from their workshop to an
ambulance, and the next moment they were moving slowly through the crowd
which reluctantly made way before the insistent screams of the horn.
Close behind them came another car with Mr. Henderson and Rawlins and a
moment later they were through the crowd and speeding towards the block
to which Mr. Pauling had dispatched the police.
As they swung around a corner they saw a surging, densely packed throng
blocking the street, while from beyond came the sounds of shouts and
cries. Above the heads of the people the boys could see the glaring
brass and shining paint of two patrol cars and, moving here and there,
rising and falling as if tossed about upon a troubled sea, the
low-visored, flat-topped caps of policemen.
“Can’t get through there!” declared Mr. Pauling, as his horn screeched
and fell on unheeding ears. “Looks like a riot!”
Mr. Henderson had leaped from his car and was beside them. “Guess the
men found something,” he remarked. “I’ll push through and see what’s
up.”
With Rawlins by his side, he wedged his way into the crowd and the two
were instantly swallowed up. But a moment later they reappeared, hats
and collars awry, coats torn open, and panting.
“Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Might as well try to get through a
solid wall. Hello! There’s another wagon!”
As he spoke, a bell clanged harshly and above the heads of the mob a car
crowded with police could be seen forcing its way towards the center of
the disturbance which appeared to be a large garage.
At this moment a huge, lumbering motor truck crept slowly from the
garage door and an angry bellow rose from the crowd. But even an East
Side mob must give way before a five-ton truck and the crowd, surging
back to make way for the truck, swept around the boys and the two cars
and engulfed them like a sea of rough clothes and angry, grimy faces.
“How the dickens can we get clear now!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, as to
save themselves from being knocked down and trampled underfoot he and
Rawlins leaped upon the running boards and flattened themselves against
the body of the car.
“Expect we’ll have to stick here until the crowd leaves,” replied Mr.
Pauling, and added, “Unless they pick us up car and all and carry us
out.”
Now the crowd was surging still farther back as though pressed by an
irresistible force and above the bellowing, moving, multicolored wave of
human heads and shoulders appeared a half-dozen mounted police, their
well-trained horses forcing back the human wall which, despite jeers,
taunts, threats and imprecations, gave way steadily before them.
As the police drew near and the crowd thinned out, one of the officers
caught sight of the two cars and their occupants.
“Here you!” he shouted, urging his horse towards the car. “Get them
flivvers out o’ here! Right about now and move lively!”
Mr. Pauling chuckled and Mr. Henderson grinned. “Show us how!” cried
back Mr. Pauling.
“No sassing back there!” stormed the policeman now riding close. “Get a
move on or I’ll pinch the bunch of ye for interferin’ with the police,
resistin’ an officer and blockadin’ traffic. I’ll get enough charges
against ye to send youse to the island for a year.”
Mr. Henderson and Tom’s father were shaking with laughter. “Don’t be
foolish, officer. Don’t you see we can’t move?” Mr. Henderson asked.
The policeman’s face grew purple with anger and he pushed his mount
close beside the car, calling to a fellow officer to help him.
Exasperated by the crowd, naturally quick-tempered and in a frenzy of
rage at these “swells,” as he mentally dubbed them, defying his orders,
he drew his club and raised it threateningly.
Mr. Henderson leaped from the running board to the policeman’s side and
in tones which even the angry blue coat recognized as authoritative
exclaimed,
“Here, that’s enough from you! You’ll find yourself broke if you don’t
look out. Your job’s to protect citizens—not to abuse them!”
A look of mingled amazement and anger swept over the officer’s face.
“An’ who may youse be?” he began, hunching himself forward and shooting
forth his pugnacious jaw.
Mr. Henderson stepped a bit closer and turned back the lapel of his
vest.
The sudden change in the man’s attitude and expression caused the boys
to burst out laughing. Surprise, incredulity, fear, and regret all
spread over his big Hibernian features in turn. His half-raised arm
dropped to his side, he seemed to shrivel and shrink in size, his pale
blue eyes seemed about to pop from between his red-lashed lids.
Then Irish humor came to his rescue. Drawing himself stiffly up he
saluted and with a twinkle in his eyes blurted out,
“B’gorra, Sir, ’tis sorry I am. But how was I to know, Sir? What with
your kelly dinted in and your tie adrift and all. Sure I’ll see ye
through here in a jiffy.”
The crowd had now been driven far back, and, escorted by the mounted
men, the two cars proceeded slowly up the street until opposite the
garage. A few idlers were still hovering about and were being chased
away by blue coats, but inside the garage the boys could see a closely
packed mass of men with policemen’s caps much in evidence, while the
broad doorway was blocked by officers with drawn clubs.
As Mr. Pauling brought his car to a stop, a plain-clothes man pressed
through the line of police and hurried to the car.
“What’s up?” demanded Mr. Pauling as the man came close. “Find
anything?”
“Find anything!” repeated the other, his gimlet eyes fairly glistening
with satisfaction. “You bet your—beg your pardon—I’ll say we did. Got
the whole bunch—men, cars, booze an’ all. Want the story now?”
“No, don’t stop now, Murphy,” replied Mr. Pauling, “After everything’s
cleaned up come around to the house and we’ll hear the whole yarn, the
boys are entitled to know it. I’m expecting a call to the hospital at
any time and must be on hand. Glad you got them.”
“I guess I’ll stay and see the fun,” said Rawlins, “that is, if I may.”
“Let Mr. Rawlins in, Murphy,” commanded Mr. Pauling. “He’s one of our
crowd and all right. Wouldn’t have got this job over without his help.
See you later.”
As the car drove off, the boys saw Rawlins pushing through the cordon of
police by Murphy’s side and all three breathed a sigh of regret that
they, too, could not remain to see what exciting and interesting things
were taking place within the garage.
But they realized that it was no place for boys and, to tell the truth,
all three were quite ready and willing to go home and have a chance to
calm down and rest. Tom, of course, had been through a racking
experience and was utterly exhausted nervously and physically, and
Frank, who was younger and of a far more nervous temperament, had been
so worried and frightened over Tom’s plight and the uncertainty of what
was occurring under the water that he had become almost hysterical when
it was all over. Even Henry had experienced enough excitement to last
him for some time and boylike was crazy to rush home and tell his
parents all about the remarkable adventures of the afternoon.
Leaving Henry at Gramercy Square, Mr. Pauling drove the car home while
Mr. Henderson went to his office and Tom and Frank, who was staying at
the Pauling home while his parents were in Europe, breathed a sigh of
satisfaction when they found themselves once more in the cool, quiet
interior of the house on Madison Avenue.