OFF ON ANOTHER WILD CHASE
A few nights later Curlie was back in the secret tower room. He was busy
as ever running down trouble.
Joe Marion, entering the room noiselessly, dropped a letter into his
hand. The letter bore the insignia of the Ardmore family in one corner.
"From Gladys Ardmore!" he told himself.
But he was mistaken. It was a typewritten letter signed in a bold
business hand. It ran:
"It is with great pleasure that I inclose a check for the sum
of the reward offered for the safe return of my son.
"(Signed) J. Anson Ardmore."
Curlie looked at the check, then uttered a low whistle.
"Pay to the order of C. Carson, $10,000.00," he whispered. Then out
loud:
"Joe, what would a fellow do with ten thousand dollars?"
"Search me," Joe grinned back. "You got the fever or something?" he
asked a second later.
Curlie showed him the check.
"Why," said Joe, "you might buy a car."
"Not much. The Humming Bird's quite good enough."
"Tell you what," he said after a moment's thought, "just get that cashed
for me, will you? Then find out where our old skipper and the engineer
live and send them a thousand apiece. After that pocket a thousand for
yourself. Then--then--Oh, well, hire me a safety deposit box and buy me
a lot of Liberty bonds. Might want 'em some day.
"And, say, that reminds me," he pointed to a square of vellum which hung
on a stretcher in the corner. "Take that over to the big library on the
North Side and tell 'em it's a present from us. It's that map Vincent
Ardmore gave me. It's worth a thousand dollars, but such maps are not
safe outside a library. Tell 'em to put it on ice," he laughed.
Scarcely had Joe departed than a keen-eyed, gray-haired man entered the
tower room. He was Colonel Edward Marshall, Curlie's superior.
"Curlie," he wrinkled his brow, as he took a seat, "there's somebody
raising hob with the radio service in Alaska."
Curlie nodded his head. "I thought there might be. Sends on 1200,
doesn't he?" He was thinking of the hotel mystery and of the strange
girl who had whispered to him so often out of the night.
"Yes, how did you know so much?"
"Part of my job."
"But you've been away."
"Radiophone whispers travel far."
"Well," said the colonel, settling down to business, "Alaska's in a bad
way. This fellow doesn't confine himself to 1200 up there. He uses all
sorts of wave lengths; seems to take pleasure in mussing up important
government communications and even more in breaking in on Munson."
"Munson, the Arctic explorer."
"Yes. He's making a try for the Pole. Much depends upon his keeping in
touch with the outside world and this crank or crook seems determined
that he shall not."
"Why don't they catch him?"
"Well, you see," he wrinkled his brow again, "the boys up there are
rather new at it. Don't understand the radio compass very well. The
fellow moves about and all that, so it's difficult.
"I thought," he said slowly after a moment, "that you might like to
tackle the case."
"Would I?" exclaimed Curlie, jumping to his feet. "Try me! Can I take
Joe along?"
"As you like. Better get off pretty promptly; say day after to-morrow."
"Never fear. We'll be off on time."
The colonel bowed and left the room.
"Alaska! Alaska!" Curlie murmured after a time, "Alaska and the Yukon
trail, for of course it will be that. It's too late for the boats. And
that reminds me, I made a promise to Gladys Ardmore. Only one night
left."
A short time after that he put in an out-of-town telephone call. It was
a girlish voice that answered.
Late the next night Curlie made his way home along the well-remembered
Forest Preserve road. He was riding in the Humming Bird. He had been to
Gladys Ardmore's party for two and a chaperon down in the little
farmhouse. The party had been a grand success and he was carrying away
pleasant memories which would serve him well on the long, long Yukon
trail and the weary and eventful miles which lay beyond its further
terminal.
If you wish to learn of Curlie's adventures up there and of the secret
of the whisperer, you must read the next volume, entitled "On the Yukon
Trail."