THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—WITH THE U. S. SECRET SERVICE
BOOKS BY
LEWIS E. THEISS
IN CAMP AT FORT BRADY. A Camping Story. 304 pages.
HIS BIG BROTHER. A Story of the Struggles and Triumphs of a Little
Son of Liberty. 320 pages.
LUMBERJACK BOB. A Tale of the Alleghanies. 320 pages.
THE WIRELESS PATROL AT CAMP BRADY. A Story of How the Boy Campers,
Through Their Knowledge of Wireless, “Did Their Bit.” 320 pages.
THE SECRET WIRELESS. A Story of the Camp Brady Patrol. 320 pages.
THE HIDDEN AERIAL. The Spy Line on the Mountain. 332 pages.
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—AFLOAT. How Roy Mercer Won His Spurs
in the Merchant Marine. 320 pages.
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—AS A FIRE PATROL. The Story of a Young
Wireless Amateur Who Made Good as a Fire Patrol. 352 pages.
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—WITH THE OYSTER FLEET. How Alec
Cunningham Won His Way to the Top in the Oyster Business. 328 pages.
Cloth Bound—Illustrated by Colored
Plates and Photographs
[Illustration]
The Young Wireless Operator—
With the U. S. Secret Service
WINNING HIS WAY IN THE
SECRET SERVICE
By
LEWIS E. THEISS
ILLUSTRATED BY
FRANK T. MERRILL
W. A. WILDE COMPANY
CHICAGO BOSTON
Copyrighted, 1923,
By W. A. Wilde Company
All rights reserved
The Young Wireless Operator—With the
U. S. Secret Service
Made in U. S. A.
To
FRANCES WARREN THEISS
whose youthful interest in this story, as
it grew, chapter by chapter, has been a
real inspiration to its maker ∷ ∷
Foreword
It may interest readers of _The Young Wireless Operator_ series to
know that most of the happenings in these books are based upon
actual occurrences. Years ago, as a reporter, the author wrote for
the New York _Sun_ the stories of the auction of bled wool, the
cotton-lined cabin, the mystery of the wheat sacks, and other
accounts of the work of the United States Secret Service, that
appear in this present volume. Although some of the characters in
the book are of course fictitious, others, like Sheridan of the
Secret Service, are real characters who actually did the things they
are portrayed as doing. Of course names have been changed. The
practice of keeping note-books and clippings that had to do with
work the writer was engaged in, has made all this material available
for present use, and brought it once more freshly to mind. The
descriptions of parts of New York and her wonderful waterways are
written from intimate, personal knowledge of the places described.
In effect, therefore, _The Young Wireless Operator—With the U. S.
Secret Service_ is a true story.
To make all the tales in this series true has been the earnest
desire of the writer. That does not mean that every incident
described necessarily happened. It does mean that the incidents used
are not only possible under the circumstances, but probable, and
that the descriptions are exact and accurate. The picture of life
portrayed is in each case as exact as careful observation and
careful writing can make it.
Before the author prepared the preceding volume of this series, _The
Young Wireless Operator—With the Oyster Fleet_, he first went to the
Delaware Bay and made a cruise on an oyster boat, living aboard with
the crew and sharing their life and labors. Furthermore, he had
lived for twenty years in that country and had spent many weeks, in
all, cruising about on oyster boats.
The writing of _The Young Wireless Operator—Afloat_, which deals
with both New York City and ports on the Mexican Gulf was made
possible by residence for some months on the Gulf, and through the
coöperation of Southern newspaper men. Practically all the incidents
related concerning the tidal wave that destroyed Corpus Christi are
stories of actual occurrences, gathered by newspaper men on the
spot. Most of the ships described in that story are real vessels and
were actually afloat at the time and in the positions given to them
by the author. The wireless stations and wireless calls are also
real.
Before writing _The Young Wireless Operator—As a Fire Patrol_, the
writer spent many days in the forest with a District Forester,
studying the actual working of the Pennsylvania State Forestry
system, though in earlier years he had spent weeks camping and
tramping in those same mountain forests. Many of the incidents used
in the book were contributed by forest rangers. The manuscript of
the book was read and approved by both the District Forester and
Gifford Pinchot, then Pennsylvania Commissioner of Forestry and now
Governor of Pennsylvania, in order that there might be no mistakes
in the text. Mr. Pinchot also showed his approval of the book by
writing a foreword for it.
This present wireless series really had its inception, years ago,
with the appearance of _In Camp at Fort Brady_. Readers of that book
showed so much interest in some of the characters that, when it came
to writing further volumes, the author naturally went on with the
history of some of those boys. Thus Roy Mercer and Alec Cunningham
and Charley Russell and Willie Brown, who have figured in _The Young
Wireless Operator series_, are really old acquaintances, and made
their first appearance in _In Camp at Fort Brady_, and their next in
_The Secret Wireless_ and in _The Hidden Aerial_. The later volumes
have dealt with individual members of the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol
rather than with the Patrol as a whole. The author has become as
much interested in this band of boys as he hopes any of his readers
has. And it is his plan to go on with these individual histories
until we know what became of each boy.
Lewis Edwin Theiss.
Otzinachson, Muncy, Pa.
January 29, 1923.
CONTENTS
I. An Unexpected Opportunity
II. An Adventure with a Secret Service Man
III. A Tip by Wireless
IV. The Capture of the Wool Smugglers
V. On the Trail of a Cotton Thief
VI. What Was Behind the False Partition
VII. Willie Gets His Chance
VIII. In the Armenian Quarter
IX. Under a Cloud
X. The Cloud Grows Darker
XI. Willie Makes a Discovery
XII. The Mystery of the Wheat Sacks
XIII. Saved by Wireless
XIV. Who Made the False Key?
XV. A Watch on a Diamond Smuggler
XVI. Where the Jewels Were Hidden
XVII. After the Whiskey Smugglers
XVIII. The Pursuit in the Dark
XIX. Victory
The Young Wireless Operator—
With the U.S. Secret Service
CHAPTER I
AN UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITY
The coastwise steamer _Lycoming_ was being warped into her berth
along the Hudson River in New York City. A fussy, little tug was
pushing against the _Lycoming’s_ bow, while other puffing, bustling
tugs butted the great ship astern, in an effort to swing the vessel
at right angles to the stream and push her into her dock. On the
_Lycoming’s_ lower deck sailors stood ready to cast great hawsers
ashore the moment the ship should be within reach of the pier. As
motionless as though he were a part of the ship itself, the captain
stood on the bridge, silent and watchful, giving occasional orders.
The upper decks were alive with passengers, who swarmed to the rail,
eagerly scanning the faces of the still distant crowd on the pier.
Now some passenger identified the face of a friend ashore, and again
some one waiting on the pier discovered a friend on board the
steamer, and cheery greetings were called back and forth across the
ever-narrowing strip of muddy water that separated the great ship
from her pier.
As the vessel slid nearer, the excitement increased. More and more
persons on shipboard and on the pier recognized friends and called
to them. A very babel of voices arose. The scuffling and tramping of
feet intensified the noise. Passengers descended to the lower decks
and the people on the pier crowded forward toward the waiting
gangplank. The tugs snorted and puffed, churning the water into
yeasty foam. From the pier came the rumble and rattle of little hand
trucks and the crash and bang of boxes and cases, which a gang of
stevedores was piling in a corner for shipment. Outside arose the
roar of the street traffic—the clatter of iron shod hoofs on hard
paving-stones, the throbbing and churning of innumerable motors, the
rattle of trucks and wagons, and the shrill cries of newsies, street
venders, taxi drivers, and baggage porters.
The huge steamer was almost in her berth, and the sailors were in
the very act of casting their lines ashore, when the door of the
wireless cabin, a snug little structure perched on the very top deck
of the _Lycoming_, swung open, and a trim young man, dressed in a
well-fitting uniform of the Marconi Service, stepped to the side of
the ship. He was the wireless operator, and in his hand he carried a
pair of powerful binoculars. Steadying himself against the rail, he
slowly swept his glance along the line of faces that fringed the
pier. Presently his glasses came to rest. For a single moment they
remained stationary. Then the wireless man slipped his binoculars
into his pocket, cupped his hands in front of his mouth, and leaned
over the rail, giving a long, peculiar whistle. It was the signal of
the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol. Apparently the signal was unheard.
When the wireless man repeated it, a youthful face, almost hidden by
the people on the pier, was upturned. A smile came on the waiting
lad’s face. His arms shot up in silent greeting.
“Come to the gangway,” shouted the wireless man through his cupped
hands.
There was a little commotion in the crowd on the pier, as the lad to
whom the wireless man had called tried to force his way through the
crowd toward the gangway. But he was so small, being scarcely larger
than a boy, in fact, that he could hardly press forward through the
crowd. The heavy suit case he carried made it all the more difficult
for him. While the lad was still struggling toward the gangplank,
the wireless man slipped down ladder and stairs with the grace and
agility of a cat, and within a few seconds stood on the lower deck
beside the sailors, who were waiting to make fast the gangplank.
“Just let that little fellow there come aboard,” said the wireless
man, pointing to his friend who was still struggling to get through
the crowd.
“Aye, aye, Mr. Mercer,” called back a husky hand on the dock, who
stood ready to help shove the gangplank into place. Then, turning
around, the huge fellow shouldered his way through the crowd,
whisked the suit case out of the little lad’s hand, and opened a way
for him through the press. In another moment the gangplank was run
out and made fast; and before the little lad knew what was
happening, he and his suit case were bundled up the gangplank and
aboard ship. A second later the eager passengers were pouring down
the gangway in a torrent.
Eagerly the visiting lad caught the outstretched hand of the
wireless man, and they stepped to one side, out of the way. “You’re
a sight for sore eyes, Willie Brown,” said the wireless man, shaking
his friend’s hand again and again. “Gee! But I sure am glad to see
you.”
“You can’t be any more pleased to see me than I am to see you, Roy.”
Then the little visitor drew back a pace and admired his friend.
“Gee whiz!” he said. “Just look at your fine uniform. I guess it’s
true that clothes make the man. Why, I heard that dock hand even
call you Mister. Think of that! You don’t catch me calling you
Mister, even if you are the wireless operator. You’re just plain Roy
Mercer of the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol to me.”
The wireless operator laughed gleefully. “You bet you won’t call me
Mr. Mercer. I’d chuck you overboard if you did. But come on. Let’s
get out of this. We’ll go to the wireless cabin where we can talk
without interruption.”
He picked up his visitor’s suit case. Then he turned toward his
friend with an expression of astonishment on his face. “Whatever
have you got in that suit case, Willie Brown?” he asked. “It’s as
heavy as a ton of bricks.”
“I’ve got my wireless set in it, Roy, and a bunch of fresh
batteries.”
“Your wireless set! Well, of all the fool ideas! To bring your dinky
home-made wireless outfit with you, when the _Lycoming_ has one of
the most up-to-date equipment money can buy! But I don’t care if
you’ve got a crocodile in your suit case. It’s _you_ I’m interested
in, Willie. Gee whiz! It does seem good to see you. Tell me about
the rest of the bunch. How are they?”
“Fine as silk,” said Willie.
By this time they had reached the wireless house. Willie’s eyes
opened wide in astonishment as he saw the magnificent wireless
outfit. “Whew!” he whistled. “That’s a dandy set. Won’t you show it
to me?”
“Sure,” said Roy, “but first tell me about the fellows at home.
How’s the Wireless Patrol coming on? And what are the fellows all
doing? Tell me about them.”
“There is mighty little to tell you that you don’t already know,
Roy. We’ve told you by wireless everything that’s worth telling.
Charley Russell is still a forest ranger and doing well. He’s
getting ahead fast. And Alec is making good in the oyster business.
We had a letter from him telling us how you saved him and his
friends when their ship became disabled in a storm in the Delaware
Bay and drifted to sea. That was a wonderful rescue, Roy. Gee whiz!
We fellows of the Wireless Patrol were proud of you.”
“Rats! I hadn’t anything to do with the rescue. Captain Lansford is
the man who saved Alec and his friends. I merely caught his SOS.”
“We know all about how much you had to do with it. We know that Alec
would never have been saved if you hadn’t been at your post, doing
your duty. We know——”
“Forget it, Willie, and tell me about the bunch. I’m crazy to know
all about them.”
“Well, I was just running through the list. Next comes Roy Mercer,”
and Willie’s eyes twinkled. “He’s become famous as the wireless
operator——”
Willie dodged just in time to miss a book that Roy shied at him.
“Tell me something about yourself, Willie. It’s some time now since
Commencement, and I suppose you have a fine job all salted away for
autumn delivery. What are you going to do with yourself, Willie?”
All the joy went out of Willie’s face. His eyes sought the floor.
“I—I—I—I haven’t anything in prospect, Roy,” he said gloomily.
“You’re too particular, Willie. A fellow can’t always get the job he
wants just at the start.”
“I can’t get any job at all, Roy. That’s the hard part of it.”
“Get out! A boy with your ability and with a high school diploma and
with your good record as a student! Of course you can get a job.
You’re too particular, that’s all.”
“If only that was the case, Roy, I’d be the happiest fellow in the
world. But it isn’t a matter of being particular. I can’t get any
job at all.”
Poor Willie looked so sober that Roy laughed outright. Then, seeing
the hurt look on Willie’s face, he said: “Forgive me, Willie. But
you pulled such a funny face I just couldn’t help laughing. And
anyway, I know you’re mistaken. Why, business men everywhere are
constantly on the lookout for bright young fellows like you,
Willie.”
For a long time Willie was silent. “Perhaps they are,” he admitted
gloomily. “But they want them lar—lar”—he appeared almost to choke
over the word—“they want them larger.”
“Well, I’ll be switched,” cried Roy, getting to his feet in
indignation. “If that doesn’t beat the band. As though size had
anything to do with a fellow’s ability. I just can’t believe it,
Willie. Have you really _tried_ to get a place?”
“Tried? Why, Roy, I’ve applied to every business man in Central City
for a job. And they all tell me the same thing. They’re willing to
hire me as an errand boy or to cut grass or weed onions, but not one
of them wanted to give me a job worth anything.”
“Did they tell you so? Are you sure you didn’t imagine all this?”
“Absolutely. Why, old man Gulliver, who owns the big department
store, told me flatly that he couldn’t afford to put me behind a
counter because his customers would be offended by being waited upon
by a boy. Nothing I could say would make him change his mind. He
said the customers would judge by appearances.”
“Why, Willie, those men are crazy. There isn’t a keener boy in
Central City than you. Great guns! Those fellows know how the
Wireless Patrol captured the German dynamiters at the Elk City
reservoir, and they know that you were one of the four boys that
Captain Hardy picked from the entire patrol, to track those fellows
to their lair. What do you suppose Captain Hardy did that for,
anyway? Your size certainly _was_ against you in that desperate
business. And it was your brains alone that finally brought success
to us. And everybody in Central City knows about our search here in
New York during the war for the secret wireless. Great heavens! Does
anybody suppose you would have been one of the four fellows selected
for that job if you hadn’t had brains? Why, Willie, the Secret
Service really owes it to you that they were able to find the secret
wireless and nab the German spy who was operating it.”
At the words Secret Service, Willie looked up. “There’s what I’d
_like_ to do,” he said, “but I’ll never get a chance.”
“What? Secret Service work?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t think of anybody I ever knew who is better qualified for
that sort of work, Willie. You had us all skinned a mile when it
came to tracking and trailing and observing things. The rest of us
were a bunch of blind men alongside of you. Nothing ever was missed
by you; and you never forgot anything you saw. And you almost always
knew what things meant, too. We would all see something and the rest
of us would stand looking at it like a set of wooden men, and you
would tell us what it meant. Honest, Willie, those Central City
business men are so stupid they’re funny.”
“Maybe they are,” said Willie, ruefully, “but laughing at them won’t
help me to get a job.”
“Did you ever try to do any detective work in Central City?”
“Of course I didn’t. You know how much chance there is to do that
sort of thing in a little town like Central City. Why, people would
have thought I was nutty for sure. They would have thought I had
been reading dime novels.”
“Guess you are right, Willie, and it’s a good thing you didn’t
attempt it. Yet I’m sure you have the qualifications. I hadn’t
thought about you in that connection before; but I can see how your
ability fits you for the work. You remember the time we discovered
some smuggling taking place aboard this very boat——”
“The time you discovered it,” corrected Willie.
“No interruptions now. I have the floor. You remember I wrote you
about the smuggling. One of the Secret Service men that came to
investigate the matter said that good detective work was nothing but
close observation, correct thinking, and persistence. And I believe
it. And I never knew anybody that could hold a candle to you for
close observation.”
“I wish I could believe it,” sighed Willie.
“Well, it’s true, and sooner or later you’ll get a chance to use
your powers of observation the way you want to. But in the meantime,
don’t you worry about a job. We’ll make this trip to Galveston and
back, and we’ll have a corking good time. And when we come back I’ll
try to get you a job. You’re a mighty good wireless man for an
amateur, and with a little help I can give you, you’d soon be
competent to take a job.”
“Gee! If you could get me a job, Roy, I’d be grateful to you to my
dying day. I don’t care what it is. I’d take anything, so it was a
job. Later on I could perhaps find just the sort of job I want. And
you needn’t be afraid to recommend me, Roy. I’d make good.”
“Of course you would. There isn’t any question about that. And
anyway, I wouldn’t want to get a fellow a job if I thought he
wouldn’t make good.”
Just then the door of the wireless house opened, and a grinning,
white-headed, old darky thrust his head through the doorway. “De
puhsuh’s compliments, Mr. Mercer, and he say could you help him a
bit he’d be ’bliged to you.”
“Tell the purser I’ll be with him in a moment. And hold on, Sam.
Just step in here. I want you to know my old friend, Mr. Brown. We
went to school together and have been friends all our lives. Willie
is going to make the next trip with us, Sam, and there isn’t
anything on this boat too good for him. Do you understand?”
“’Deed I does, Mr. Mercer. ’Deed I does, suh. It’s a pleasure to do
anything for a friend of yours, Mr. Mercer.” And the grinning darky
advanced and shook Willie’s proffered hand with seeming pleasure.
“Thank you, Sam. Thank you. Please tell Mr. Robbins that I’ll be
there in a moment.”
The colored steward withdrew. Roy turned to Willie. “I’m sorry,
Willie,” he said, “but I shall have to leave you for a little while.
I offered to help the purser with some manifests, as soon as I had
my telegrams off. He doesn’t know you are here, of course, or he
wouldn’t have sent Sam up.”
“I notice you are aces high on this ship, Roy,” said Willie. “And I
understand it all right enough. It’s that old trick of yours of
being nice to everybody. No wonder they all like you.”
“You understand about this matter, Willie, don’t you?” replied Roy,
ignoring his friend’s remark. “I’m just as sorry as I can be that I
have to leave you. It’ll take me an hour or two with the purser.
Just make yourself at home. As soon as I get done, I’ll show you the
wireless outfit, as you asked me to. Ought to have done it right
off, anyway. You’ll excuse me, won’t you, Willie?”
“Beat it,” said Willie. “You don’t owe me any excuses. I’m a million
times obliged to you merely for the opportunity to be here, let
alone being entertained. I’ll take a stroll while you’re helping the
purser. I’ll be back in a couple of hours or so.”
Roy accompanied his guest to the pier, made sure that the men on
guard would know him so that Willie would have no difficulty in
getting back aboard the ship, and hurried away to the purser’s
office.
Once on land, Willie drew a little to one side, out of the way of
the traffic, to take a good look about him. Wonderful was the scene
that greeted his eye. Although Willie lived in central Pennsylvania,
the scene was familiar enough to him. As Roy had said, Willie was
one of the four members of the Wireless Patrol who had spent some
time in New York during the war, running down the secret wireless of
a German spy. During that visit he had become well acquainted with
New York—he had to become well acquainted with it, in fact, as part
of the preparation for the work to be done. So now he felt entirely
at home.
Yet always he was thrilled by the sight of the teeming activities of
this great, roaring city. Being from an inland town, he especially
liked the water-front, and all its suggestive activities. The coming
and going of huge, laden drays and trucks, with their mysterious
bales and boxes, always fired his imagination. What was in these
commonplace containers, and whence had it come or whither might it
be going? To what strange lands might not some of these packages of
merchandise eventually come, and in what curious ways might they not
travel? Chinese sampans might eventually bear some of these goods up
brawling Chinese rivers; camel trains might carry them over the
burning desert; elephants might convey a portion of this merchandise
through Indian jungles or long safaris of African porters struggle
through the dark continent with some part of these products on their
heads.
Always it fired Willie’s imagination to see this stirring life along
the water-front. And a powerful imagination was one of Willie’s most
precious gifts. It was this imagination that had given him the power
Roy ascribed to him of being able to interpret things correctly, for
Willie did possess that ability in an astonishing degree. Constantly
his imagination was at play, working upon anything that caught his
eye; just as now, in the things that most of those passing near him
saw only as boxes or bundles, he was seeing camel trains crossing
the desert, and other sights equally delightful.
No wonder Willie loved this wonderful waterfront, with its argosies
from the seven seas; and no wonder that now, after gazing for a time
at the flow of traffic before him, he darted across the street and
turned south toward the Battery. Powerful memories drew him that
way. He must see once more the Staten Island ferry, by which he had
so often journeyed to Staten Island during that
never-to-be-forgotten spy hunt. And the Aquarium, with its
unbelievably odd and curious fish life; the fire-boat, lying ready
to dash off to a blaze at a second’s notice; the harbor
police-station, with its trim little police boat; and in the
distance that grand old memorial of the thing he and all his fellow
Americans had so desperately fought for—Liberty—all these things and
a hundred others drew him along the water-front as irresistibly as a
magnet draws a needle.
Slowly he made his way along, passing from pier to pier, reveling in
everything he saw, yet always eager to go a bit farther and see a
bit more. So he made his way along the Hudson, through old Battery
Park, past the ferry landing and on to the East River front. How he
delighted in the East River front! Here were assembled the old and
the odd and the curious water-craft. In place of the majestic ocean
liners, Willie here found public docks full of canal-boats. And here
were sailing vessels, with their masts towering aloft. And, of
course, there were innumerable steamships, too, though the East
River was too cramped to accommodate the largest. But it was the
sailing ships and the canal-boats that most attracted Willie.
Presently he came to an open pier that fairly gripped him. No
moving-picture show, no storybook, no tale of mouth, ever was more
fascinating than the scene on this pier. Canal-boats lay in the
dock, dozens and dozens of them. And sailing ships were moored near
by, to add picturesqueness to the view. River-craft of all sorts
were plowing the East River. Up-stream a little way ferry-boats were
shuttling back and forth to Brooklyn. Occasionally a big steamer
passed by. Long strings of canal-boats, towed by tugs, forged slowly
along. Innumerable lighters, convoyed by other puffing tugs,
buffeted the waves. Floats, bearing laden freight-cars, went
clumsily past. Occasional motor-boats scooted noisily by, and even a
lone oarsman in a rowboat was visible, working his way against the
current.
Out on the pier went Willie. Fascinated, he gazed about him. How the
stirring life before him stimulated and thrilled him. Indeed, he
hardly felt like the little country lad who had just come to New
York to take a steamship voyage as the guest of an old chum. His
spirit was like the eagle’s. He soared over vast distances, and saw
strange lands. He was a globe-trotter, a world traveler. And in
truth, Willie actually saw more of the world, standing on that East
River pier than some folks do who circle it; for there be many who,
having eyes, see not. Indeed, Willie not only saw, but also heard
and even smelled and tasted; for the wind was bringing to him the
delicious aroma from the near-by coffee-roasting establishments, and
the ravishing odor of freshly made cocoa, and the scent of perfumes,
and other odd and curious smells so tropical of this part of old New
York. Willie had read of the perfumes of the Orient, but he doubted
if they were any more pleasing than some of the odors that now
assailed his nostrils.
Presently Willie became conscious of the fact that he was tired. He
had been on his feet a long time, for he had stood on the pier for
two or three hours before the _Lycoming_ docked. The paving-stones
and the wooden planks of the pier suddenly felt very hard to his
feet. He sought for a place to rest. At one side of the pier some
lumber was piled. Willie made his way to it. At the river end there
was a sort of little recess in the pile, where some short lengths of
board had been put in the centre of the lumber. A projecting plank
or two made a comfortable seat. Willie sank down in this snug nook
with a sigh of relief and comfort. His feet were really very tired.
He found the wind was shut off by the lumber, too, and that was
welcome, for the day was far along and it was growing cool. In
perfect comfort Willie now sat in his little retreat, watching the
river life before him. Without realizing it, Willie had chosen an
observation post where he could hardly be observed himself, so well
was he snuggled down among the projecting lengths of lumber.
As the afternoon waned, the activities on the pier almost ceased. In
fact, the place was practically deserted. Out toward the end of the
pier Willie had casually noticed an old fellow who was aimlessly
walking about. He appeared to be a tramp. Willie would never have
given him a second thought had the man not suddenly disappeared.
Willie was not watching him, and in fact was not directly conscious
of the man’s presence on the pier; yet suddenly Willie’s
subconsciousness told him that something was missing from the
picture before him. That startled Willie into conscious mental
effort. What was that something and why had it disappeared?
Now Willie brought into play that mental gift he had used to such
good effect in the hunt for the German dynamiters at Elk City. His
comrades of the Wireless Patrol always said that Willie had a mental
photograph in his head of anything he had ever looked at. He did,
too. Perhaps everybody has. But Willie was able to visualize a scene
as few people are able. He could see not only the broad outlines of
a remembered picture, but also the minute details. And that ability,
originally native, had been developed to a wonderful degree by
practice. Lacking size, Willie had taken the only possible means of
putting himself on a par with his fellows. He had developed his
wits.
So now, startled through his subconsciousness, he sat bolt upright
and began to concentrate on the problem before him. Something had
suddenly disappeared from the picture. What was it? He drove his
memory over the back track, and presently he saw the old tramp
wandering about. And he was able to remember even the very spot
where he had last seen the tramp. Willie gave a sigh of relief when
he made this discovery, for he was troubled lest the old fellow
might have tumbled overboard. He was certain he had last seen the
man just beside a big pile of boxes near the centre of the pier.
For a moment Willie dismissed the matter from his mind. Then into
his head popped the question: “Why did that tramp disappear so
suddenly?”
Again Willie was afire with a problem. He turned the matter over in
a hundred ways, and at length decided that the tramp had crawled
into the pile of boxes, even as he, Willie, had snuggled down among
the lumber, for rest. Likely the old fellow had found a snug berth
to catch a little sleep. More than likely there were tarpaulins
there, and the fellow had crawled into a bunch of them. They would
both keep him warm and make a fairly soft place to rest. Yes, that
was undoubtedly the reason. Willie was satisfied that he had solved
the problem. He had no doubt that if he nosed about the pile of
boxes, he would find the old fellow snug inside. But that was the
last thing Willie thought of doing. Even a tramp had a right to
sleep.
Presently men began to gather on the pier again. Some of them came
up over the side of the pier, from canal-boats in the dock. Others
came from shore. Willie guessed at once that they were barge
captains. At least, such men are called captains. They live on the
barges with their families and look after the craft for the owners.
Usually they are a rough set, and these particular canal-boat
captains now gathering on the pier were no exception. Willie looked
at them closely and decided that he would not want to be at their
mercy if they were angry at him. They looked like a desperate lot,
and Willie could not help feeling that they must be as desperate as
they looked. Certainly they led irresponsible lives, for they were
here to-day and gone to-morrow, their homes being wherever fate and
a cargo took their craft. How easy it would be for them to make away
with an enemy. The water-front was dark and the rushing tide so near
at hand. A silent blow, a quick push over the end of a pier, and
there was the end of some one. And more than once, Willie knew, that
_had_ been the end of some one. He had read of such cases and heard
of others.
The more Willie thought about these men, the more interested he
became in them. It was his old habit asserting itself. He had given
rein to his imagination. And he was picturing to himself the evil
side of canal-boat life. And evil enough Willie knew it could be.
More than once, when he was working to trace the secret wireless of
that German spy, he had been told about the piratical river life led
by some of these bargemen. Enormous amounts of property they carried
in their barges, and not all of it, Willie knew, reached its
rightful destination.
While Willie was wondering about these things, his eyes were focused
on the growing group of river-men before him. Suddenly he became
aware that they were gathering in a circle. They were drawing close
together, right beside the pile of boxes where Willie believed the
tramp was curled up. Willie had had no interest in the tramp
previously, but now he suddenly felt the keenest sympathy for him.
Closer together drew the bargemen, and Willie could see that they
were discussing something. Probably, he thought, they were plotting
a robbery of some float or lighter. And if they were, and if they
discovered the tramp concealed so close at hand, they would
instantly suspect him of being an eavesdropper. And what they would
do to him Willie did not even like to imagine. He hoped the tramp
would keep quiet and lie low.
Either the tramp was already asleep, or was possessed of discretion,
for no sign of him was to be seen. Dusk was coming fast, and Willie
should have returned to the _Lycoming_, but, like the tramp, he
hated to move. Though he was at some distance from the gang of
boatmen, they might nevertheless think he was spying on them. So he
snuggled down closer than ever in the lumber pile and watched.
Presently the group of bargemen broke up, and the various canal-boat
captains and others started to go their separate ways.
“Don’t forget,” Willie heard the man who had done most of the
talking say. “To-morrow night. And it will be rich pickings for
somebody.”
The speaker slid over the side of the pier to a canal-boat. To other
boats and toward the street the other members of the gang made their
way. In a few moments the pier was vacant.
“Now for the _Lycoming_,” thought Willie. “Roy will think I’m lost.”
He started to rise, then sank back quickly in his seat. Something
was moving in the pile of boxes. Willie looked intently. A head was
thrust quickly up among the boxes. It was the tramp. He took a quick
look around, saw that the pier was deserted, and leaped from his
place of concealment. Willie did the same. There was no reason why
he should delay a moment longer in getting back to the _Lycoming_.
But before he had taken a dozen paces, the tramp was beside him. The
tramp opened a wallet and took out a crisp dollar bill.
“If you will send a telephone message for me,” he said, “the change
from this bill is yours.”
“Sure,” said Willie, too much astonished even to question the man.
“Run to the nearest ’phone. There’s one in that building over there.
Call this number and say that Sheridan wants a man to help him at
once in the neighborhood of South Street and Coenties Slip. If
there’s any answer, try to find me. I’ll probably be in some of
these sailors’ hangouts along the water-front. There’ll be another
dollar in it if you get me.”
Into Willie’s hand the man thrust the crisp dollar bill and a piece
of cardboard. Then he turned abruptly away and hurried up South
Street. Willie shoved the bill into his pocket and took a look at
the telephone number on the piece of pasteboard. Then he gave a
sharp cry. The figures in his hand were the secret call of the
United States Secret Service in New York. He knew that number
because it had been given to him when he was engaged in the search
for the secret wireless.