Jimmy decided to put a detailed account of the latest
developments of the story on the wire in Lentone. He therefore
asked Matthews to take him down in the sea sled. He could make
better time that way than driving his own car over the plowed and
unplowed fields that lay between the camp and the road.
But he did not telegraph his story. He found the small telegraph
office besieged with a crowd of men and women, all clamoring for a
wire. Jimmy grinned at the spectacle. It did not take the veteran
newspaper man more than a glance to know it for what it was.
Three hours had elapsed between the time he telephoned his flash
and the moment when he stepped into the small telegraph office in
Newport. In those three hours, all the big and some of the little
papers of the country had frantically wired their nearest
correspondents to get busy.
From the North in Canada, from the South, East and West men and
women began converging on the little town of Lentone, Vermont. A
day later these local correspondents would be replaced by star
reporters, special writers, feature writers, syndicate writers,
novelists, and sob sisters.
Jimmy knew that within twenty-four hours every big newspaper in
the country and every important press service would be represented.
Still grinning, he backed out of the telegraph office and hunted
for the nearest public telephone. He found a repetition here of
the condition he had met in the telegraph office. He had to walk
six blocks before he came to a booth at which one or more persons
were not awaiting their turn.
Forgotten now was any thought of enjoying himself in rest and
recreation on his vacation. The newspaper man remains a newspaper
man for a long time, only because he loves the game. And "game" is
what the newspaper man who belongs, calls it. Those who do not
belong get out of it sooner or later. On a big story he does not
think of food, drink or hours. In the absorption of a big story he
can and does continue without rest an unbelievable number of
hours, subject himself to relentless physical strain. In doing so
he enjoys it, as he does nothing else. He exemplifies perfectly
the statement by the philosopher that there is no greater joy on
earth than the one found in work. Hardly anyone, in any other
occupation puts in the hours, the work, the loyalty for so little
financial reward as does the newspaper man.
Jimmy's connection with his office was quickly made. Hite's few
sentences were short, sharp, barking ones. Hite was keyed up to
the highest pitch. By this time a call had gone out and he had
enough men to handle all phases of the story. Hite gave some brief
orders, made some caustic comment and switched the wire to Roy
Heath's desk.
Even this individual's speech was not now the lazy drawl it
habitually was. The tremendous scope of the story, the tense
feverish activity on the part of Hite at the desk near him
infected even Roy Heath.
Jimmy knew without being there that since the moment he had hung
up the receiver on his first call, Hite and the rest of the staff
had been in a frenzy of activity. Jimmy could picture it as though
he were there, Hite barking orders to men and office boys at his
elbow and at men and women perhaps hundreds and thousands of miles
away. Jimmy could picture the stream of men and women and boys
parading before his desk for orders. Jimmy could picture him
perhaps talking into three telephones almost simultaneously; to
the composing room, to a member of the staff somewhere in the
Metropolitan area and to a correspondent many miles away.
Far and wide over the entire country, lapping over into foreign
countries ranged the newspaper net that was thrown out for
information. This information, arriving at the office, would be
weeded out. The wheat would be separated from the chaff; the
usable stuff would be licked into shape and Roy Heath and two
other rewrite men would transform it into living, dramatic,
racing, pulsating recital.
With only a faint trace of his lazy drawl, Roy said:
"All right, Jimmy, shoot it fast. Story waitin' for a new lead."
Jimmy poured into his ears the newest developments of the story;
Professor Brierly's search and his conclusions. Jimmy concluded
with:
"About the New York end now, Roy. About Schurman and Wrigley--"
"We're coverin' that, Jimmy. Schurman committed suicide, I guess,
and about Wrigley, nothin' to that. He was drowned. He--"
At this point Jimmy interrupted. With a fair imitation of
Professor Brierly's crisp, staccato, clear cut accents, with the
perfectly astonishing memory for which James Hale was known, he
said:
"Oh, yes? Not much question about Wrigley, the man who was found
in the water at Bradley Beach, is there? All we know about him is
that he was found dead in the water. Do you know that he was
drowned? Of course you don't.
"And Schurman, the man who was reported to have committed suicide
by hanging. All you know about that is that he was found hanging
in his study, dead. Do you know that he died by hanging? Do you
know that he was not dead before he was hung? If that is the case,
if he was dead before he was hung, then, obviously he could not
have hung himself. Perfectly astonishing to me, Mr. Heath, that a
man who has followed your profession as long as you have should be
so gullible. For that matter, do you know these men are really
dead. We scientists--"
With surprising patience, Roy had listened to this burlesque. That
was because Roy was one of the greatest rewrite men in the
profession. Roy's quick mind had instantly grasped the thing that
was behind this burlesque. At this point he interrupted.
"I get you, Professor. Too bad you can't be here yourself. But I
promise that in a couple hours we'll know more about Schurman's
and Wrigley's death. Swell tip, Jimmy. We'll go right after it.
That all?"
"Yep," said Jimmy, going back to character. "That's all, Roy,
s'long. Oh, wait a minute, Roy. Schurman is at your end. Got any
dope on that?"
"No, Jimmy, all we got is a flash. We're gettin' the details now.
He had engaged a plane to fly up to Higginbotham's camp, plannin'
to be there first thing in the mornin'. When he didn't come up to
the airport, the pilot began telephonin'. Finally, about eight
o'clock or so in the morning, an old woman who takes care of
Schurman's apartment, came and found him hangin'. That's about all
we got, Jimmy."
Jimmy was about to hang up the receiver, when Hite's harsh growl
cut in:
"Wait a minute, Jimmy. I was listening in. You gave me an idea. We
can and will, of course, verify these two deaths, but it would be
swell if Professor Brierly were here. Could you persuade him to
come down here to give us the benefit of his experience and
advice?"
"I don't know, chief. He's a crochety old gent, you know, and he
has notions about things. He might take the notion that it is not
fitting or pleasant or convenient to go. He might think--oh, he
might think anything."
"Yes, Jimmy, I know something about the peppery old gent. But you
stand pretty strong with him. See if you can persuade him. I'm
going to take it for granted that he'll come. Will he object to
riding in a plane?"
"Who, Professor Brierly? Don't make me laugh, chief. There isn't a
thing on, above or beneath the earth that he's afraid of. If he
decides to come he'll want to come the quickest way possible."
"All right then, Jimmy. I'll charter a plane by wire. If he
consents to come there will be a plane ready for him in the
airport most convenient to his camp, wherever that is, or right on
the lake. Step on it, Jimmy."
Jimmy thought of using the telephone, decided against it. It might
take some diplomatic finesse to persuade the old scientist to hire
himself out to a newspaper. He might feel it degrading and
cheapening to do such a thing.
On the way to the camp, Jimmy's moods were reflected in his
features by alternate smiles and frowns as he pictured the manner
in which his office would be received.
By the time he reached the camp he decided against using any cheap
trickery to accomplish his purpose. He held Professor Brierly in
too much esteem to attempt such a thing. He made up his mind that
forthright frankness would serve his purpose best. He was
delighted and surprised at the ease with which his errand was
accomplished.
Professor Brierly consented to make the trip without hesitation.
He did balk at first about accepting the plane at the expense of
Jimmy's paper, but he was persuaded that it was ethical in the
highest degree to do so. Jimmy clinched this argument by saying
that if Professor Brierly refused to do it for the paper, Hite
would perhaps engage one of the charlatans or pseudo-scientists,
against whom the old savant was in the habit of raving.
At this moment there came from the direction of the lake the
deafening roar of an airplane motor, which diminished as it came
nearer. Looking out they saw an amphibian taxi to within a few
yards of the wharf. Hite had not wasted time. The plane was there
to take Professor Brierly to New York.
Jimmy decided to call it a day. His long drive from New York and
the strenuous day just past, broken only by a few hours' sleep,
told even on his robust constitution. Besides, there was nothing
further to do that afternoon. Hite had indicated that when Jimmy's
fresh news was put on the presses the staff would quit for the
day.
He was in Lentone bright and early the following morning. A short
visit to the home of the late Morris Miller followed by a visit to
the police, gave him very little for a new lead to the story. He
ruefully told himself that the news was probably where Professor
Brierly was. He telephoned to his paper.
Hite's voice had a tremor that showed he came as near laughing as
he ever got.
"Great little guy that professor of yours, Jimmy. My, oh my, what
a newspaper man he would have made. Is he always that way, Jimmy?"
"What did he do, chief?"
"What did he do? For one thing he came as near getting me fired
from this job as I ever got. He snarled and growled at me. He told
the managing editor that he was an ignoramus and the M.E., believe
it or not, took it, took it like a little lamb, Jimmy. Dije ever
hear anybody call the M.E. an idiot and get away with it?
"He told Mr. Conway, the boss, that he was a charlatan; that he
was running a yellow sheet; that he had the ethics of a hyena;
that he was pandering to the worst passions of the ignorant mob
and a few other choice things.
"He set the police commissioner's office on its collective ear and
drove the medical examiners crazy. What he said to them should be
preserved as a method of raising blisters on a man's skin with
language and done in good English.
"He did say one nice thing about one human being. He said that one
James Hale, Esq., was not so bad--for a newspaper man. Now don't
get swelled up over this like a poisoned pup, Jimmy, or I'll have
you killed. The price quoted for murdering a newspaper man is very
low.
"But Jimmy, he gave us a swell new lead on the story. Schurman was
murdered. Everybody here said he had committed suicide. As for
Wrigley, that appears to have been an honest drowning. He was
really drowned. We're looking it up just the same, but we have the
old bird's word for it that he died by drowning. Say, Jimmy
doesn't that bird ever sleep. He was busy as a bee all night. He
left here about five this morning and may be up there already for
all I know. When he left he was as chipper and fresh and full of
pep as--well words fail me, Jimmy.
"He says he's going right up to the camp of Justice Higginbotham.
Jimmy, I'd give a leg if I could have had a stenographic report of
his speeches while he was here and a picture of the individuals at
whom those speeches were fired.
"S'long, Jimmy, remember we're runnin' a daily paper and not a
quarterly." This was Hite's usual formula.
Jimmy now decided to charter a swift motor boat. Professor
Brierly's camp and Justice Higginbotham's camp were both a
considerable distance off the main road. A swift motor boat, with
a competent man to handle it, would transport him from Lentone to
either or both camps in less time than would a motor car.
Getting a motor boat was not as easy as he had anticipated. He
learned that a sudden demand within the past twenty-four hours had
apparently exhausted all the available craft that were for hire.
Something that one of the boatmen let drop gave him an inkling of
the reason for this. The correspondents who were pouring into
Newport had reached the same conclusion as he and had forestalled
him. He also learned that every available motor car had been hired
within the past few hours.
Foreseeing the possibility of being on the story for some time, he
set out with the idea that if he could not charter a boat he would
buy one. He felt that the expense would be justified and he was
certain the powers that be on his paper would approve such a step;
they were not niggardly in the matter of expenses.
After a protracted search he found a youngster of eighteen, Harry
Stoy, who was not only willing to sell him his sea sled, but was
also willing to hire out as the boat's crew. Harry was a fine
upstanding youngster, who knew motor boats and who knew the lake
and surrounding country. When Harry learned that the man to whom
he sold the boat was a newspaper man on a big murder story, he
stopped bargaining and entered the chase with nearly the same
amount of enthusiasm as that shown by the reporter himself.
Jimmy opened his eyes wide with astonishment when Harry took him
to Justice Higginbotham's camp. Boats were tied to the small
wharf. Boats were moored to every available spot on the shore. For
hundreds of yards about the wharf boats were anchored. Not since
he had seen a regatta had Jimmy seen so many boats in one place at
the same time.
When he stepped to the wharf and thence to the wide porch, he
understood the cause of this. As he had seen at the telegraph
office and the public telephone booths, Justice Higginbotham's
camp was now a magnet for all the newspapers and press services in
the United States and Canada. Near the wharf he recognized the
plane that had transported Professor Brierly to New York.