SAVED BY WIRELESS
It was only by a lively sprint that Willie got back to his office
within the time limit set by Mr. King. In fact, it was two minutes
past one before Willie was really in his own office and at his post.
How different that old gate looked now! As it swung open, it was
almost like a welcoming hand extended in greeting.
Willie was just bursting to tell the news, but he had no opportunity
to do so until Mr. King came in from his luncheon.
“Well, what luck, Hawkshaw?” said Mr. King.
“The best of luck,” said Willie, and he told his boss about the
discoveries Mr. Easterly and he had made.
“Good work, Willie,” said the Special Agent. “You have really done
something worth while. Your discovery will break up this sort of
thing for a time.”
“I don’t know whether it will or not,” said Willie, suddenly rueful,
“for there isn’t any such fellow as Marrash Roukas. At least we
can’t find any trace of him.”
“How’s that?”
Willie told Mr. King of their vain search. He replied, “Well, you’ve
stumbled on an unusually interesting case.”
“It will be more interesting if we find Roukas,” said Willie. “But I
don’t know how we are ever going to do that.”
Mr. King did not seem disturbed. “We’ll let him find himself,” he
said.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s wait until Easterly disposes of the case,” said the Treasury
Agent. “Then we’ll know all about it.” And that was all the comfort
Willie could get from his superior.
But Willie didn’t have to wait nearly as long to learn the
conclusion of the story as he had feared he would. Before the office
closed that evening, Mr. Easterly came swinging up the corridor.
“Got him,” he said to Willie. “He’s in the Tombs prison now.”
“Gee!” gasped Willie. “How did you find him so soon?”
“I let him find himself,” said Mr. Easterly. “I went back to the
pier and waited for him to call for his goods. I reckoned he would
come early, while everything was in confusion on the pier, because
he wouldn’t attract half so much attention then. That’s just what he
did. He drove up with an old junk wagon and asked for freight for
Marrash Roukas. Of course we grabbed him.”
“Of course,” said Willie, with chagrin. “I never thought of that.”
“You will be interested to know,” went on the customs agent, “that
there really isn’t any such fellow as Marrash Roukas, after all.”
“There isn’t? Then how did you catch him? I don’t exactly
understand.”
The agent laughed. “Marrash Roukas is an assumed name,” he said.
“The fellow is really a poor peddler named Selim Sora.”
Willie’s face grew long. “Then we haven’t got anything on Habib
Mahaleb, after all,” he cried.
“On the contrary, we have a whole lot on him. At first brother Sora
was as ignorant as a bronze statue. Couldn’t speak English, you
know. But I soon got him to talking. Then he said it was all a
mistake. He had gotten the names mixed when he asked for the goods.
I showed him different. Next he tried to bribe me. But finally, when
I told him it would mean a long term in prison unless he came
through with the truth, he opened up and gave the whole game away.
He’s just a tool for Mahaleb. The goods are ordered and paid for by
Mahaleb and shipped to Roukas. Sora gets them at the pier and
delivers them to Mahaleb. They thought we’d never see through the
game. By George! They had reason to think so. Why, this thing has
been going on for months. I’m going to tell Mr. King so and tell him
that it is entirely due to you that we broke it up.”
Willie’s eyes were shining bright. He hardly trusted himself to
reply, but managed to say, “I’m mighty glad it wasn’t a pipe dream.”
Then Mr. Easterly went on into Mr. King’s office, and Willie turned
to his work.
He was very happy over the outcome of the affair. If it were not for
that awful suspicion of dishonesty that hung over his head, Willie
would have been the happiest lad in New York. But he could never
forget that he was under a cloud. He must go on with the tedious
task of clearing away that cloud.
All the afternoon he worked diligently at his desk. When five
o’clock came, he put away his things and stepped to Mr. King’s door.
“I’m going to work at my wireless until the building closes, Mr.
King,” he said.
His superior nodded and Willie went into his wireless room. He was
very particular nowadays to let his boss know where he was. If only
he could find some one who knew where he was during that fatal
three-quarters of an hour, when the papers were stolen. He must hunt
and hunt until he did find some one.
He sat down at his wireless, adjusted his headpiece, threw over his
switch and listened in, preparatory to sending out the first call he
had selected to make that afternoon. Day after day during the two
weeks or more that had elapsed since the papers were taken, he had
been calling up amateur after amateur, asking the same question:
“Have you any recollection of ever hearing the call CBWC sent out by
CBM?” Always came the answer, “No.”
Now he was about to go on with his seemingly hopeless quest. But
just as he put his finger to his key, to flash out the first of the
signal calls, he was startled by hearing his own signal.
“CBM—CBM—CBM de KWC.”
Two or three times he had been able to call to his fellows back
home, during the noon hour. Doubtless he could have talked with them
every night, if he had had access to his wireless then. But this was
the very first time that he had heard anybody call him. It gave him
a strange feeling. Quickly he flashed out his answer.
“KWC—KWC—KWC de CBM—I—I—I.” (Ward liner, _Morro Castle_, Willie
Brown answering. Go ahead.)
“This is Reynolds,” came the message. “Been trying all the morning
to get you.”
“Where are you?” flashed back Willie.
“Off the Jersey coast, about opposite the Hook.”
“When will you dock?”
“This afternoon. Come see me this evening.”
“Thanks,” flashed back Willie. “I will. Where is the _Lycoming_?”
“She ought to be in by morning. She’s a few hours behind us.”
“I’ll be over to see you this evening. I must get to work now.
Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” came the answer, and Willie resumed his thankless task.
But his heart was lighter. He would have a friend to talk to that
evening. The word friend had become very precious to Willie.
Persistently he continued his search through the ether, until the
evening whistles warned him that he would have to get out of the
building promptly, if he did not want to be locked in. He put on his
cap, walked rapidly down the corridor, and got a bite to eat at a
near-by quick lunch counter. Then he went for a little walk in
Battery Park. At half-past seven he started for the Ward line piers.
The _Morro Castle_ was docked, and all was quiet aboard her. Willie
gained admission to the pier and sought out Mr. Reynolds in the
wireless cabin.
“Hello!” cried the wireless man, jumping up and grasping Willie’s
hand warmly. “How goes it? How are you getting on in the customs
service?”
A cloud came over Willie’s face. “I oughtn’t to bother you with my
troubles,” he said, “but it has been pretty hard to stand up under
them, for I hadn’t a friend in the city to talk it over with.”
“Trouble?” said Reynolds, sympathetically. “What’s gone wrong?”
“Some valuable papers disappeared, and they think I took them.”
The wireless man opened his eyes wide. “The dickens!” he said. “Tell
me about it. Why do they think you took the papers?”
“It’s this way. You know I rigged up my wireless in the office to
send orders for the Chief. But I am not supposed to use the outfit
for myself except in my own time; that is, during the noon hour or
after office hours. It was while I was in the wireless room during
the noon hour that the papers disappeared.”
“That’s plain enough,” said Mr. Reynolds. “Why don’t you explain it
to them?”
“I have, but the trouble is that I am the only person known to have
been in the office during that time, and I have no way to prove I
spent it in the wireless room. There isn’t a soul who saw me come in
or go out.”
“The dickens! That is a fix. Isn’t there any way that you could
prove you were there?”
“There’s just one way, and that seems hopeless. If I could find just
one person who heard my wireless signals during that period, I could
clear myself. But I can’t find anybody who did.”
“I don’t understand. What about the party you were talking to? Can’t
he prove that you were at your instrument?”
“There’s the rub. I wasn’t talking to anybody. I was merely calling
and I couldn’t get any answer. I was trying to get CBWC—the wireless
club at home I told you about.”
The wireless man sprang to his feet, and stepped to his desk. “What
day was that?” he asked.
“The very day you and Roy sailed away.”
“Then your troubles are over. I heard you calling, and here is a
record of the fact.” And he opened his wireless log-book and showed
to Willie an entry. “Tuesday, 1 o’clock P. M. CBM has been calling
CBWC for three-quarters of an hour.”