PURSUING THE "RADIO" PLANE
Not before they had reached the street did Frank vouchsafe an
explanation of his amazing conduct. Then Jack, refusing to be put
aside any more, gripped him by the arm and swung him about so that
they stood face to face.
"Out with it, now," he demanded. "Why did you hurry us away from that
office? And why didn't you tell Mr. Higginbotham our reason for trying
to discover something about this man who has taken the Brownell
place?"
Big Bob quizzically regarded his smaller companion.
"Guess I know," he said. "Frank had another hunch. Didn't you?"
"Yes," confessed Frank, "and that's about all I had to go on, too. But
it was a strong one. Something inside of me kept saying that man
Higginbotham wasn't to be trusted. There was a look in his eyes,
watchful and cunning. And he made a little start when we asked him
about the Brownell place. I don't know. There was nothing definite,
nothing I can point out to you now. I feel almost ashamed of myself,
as a matter of fact."
Bob put an arm over his shoulder.
"You needn't," he said. "Forget it. I'll put my faith in your hunches
every time. Well, what'll we do now? Look up the Secret Service men,
or have lunch first?"
"Let's eat," said Jack.
He was a bit out of sorts because his plan to pump Mr. McKay had
miscarried. Bob who read him aright, grinned and slapped him
resoundingly on the back.
"How much money you got, old thing?" he asked. "I came without any. Do
we eat at a Child's restaurant or at the Knickerbocker Grill."
They stood on the corner of Broadway and Forty-second street,
immediately in front of the Knickerbocker. Toward it Bob, who was fond
of good eating, gazed with longing.
"Too high-priced for my purse," said Jack. "Besides, we haven't the
time to waste over eating there. Takes too long. We must be on our
way. However, I can do you better than a lunch counter, so come on. I
know a place around here on Forty-second street."
Taking the lead, Jack led the way through the busy throng that
congests traffic at Times Square at all hours of the day and
practically all of the night, too. They turned in at a small
restaurant on Forty-second street, and despatched lunch in
double-quick time.
During the course of the meal, Bob gave an exclamation.
"I planned to call Dad and tell him we were in town and why," he said.
"But it's too late now. He'll have gone out to lunch."
Jack knew it would be impossible to reach his father by telephone. Mr.
Hampton the night before had announced he planned to spend the day
going over certain engineering plans with Colonel Graham, and Jack had
only a vague idea where they would be in conference.
"Now for the Secret Service men," said Jack, at conclusion of the
meal. "Luckily I have a card of introduction from Inspector Burton in
my purse. Also it gives the address--down on Park Row. Well, the
Subway again. Only this time, the East Side branch to Brooklyn
Bridge."
Once more stemming the torrent of human traffic flowing along
Forty-second street, the boys made their way eastward to the Grand
Central station, boarded a southbound express train on the Subway
tracks, and were whisked to their destination at lightning-like
speed.
Park Row also was crowded, the noon hour crowds of workers, from the
towering skyscrapers of the financial district to the south, loitering
in City Hall Park and sauntering up and down the thoroughfare to which
the park gives its name. Jack and Bob felt their spirits react to the
impulse of the busy life around them, but the sensitive Frank, who
hated crowds, became peevish.
He urged his companions to hurry.
"Forget the sight-seeing," he said, "and let's move along. The quicker
I'm out of this mass of humanity, the better pleased I'll be. These
crowds of New Yorkers don't give a fellow a chance to take a deep
breath for fear he'll crush in somebody else's ribs."
"Here we are," said Jack, turning in at a tall office building, near
lower Broadway, with old St. Paul's and its churchyard, filled now
with loitering clerks spending their dinner hour among the graves,
just across the way.
Once more an express elevator whisked the trio skyward. At the
fourteenth floor they alighted, made their way to an office, the glass
door of which bore no lettering except the number "12," and entered.
"Inspector Condon, please," said Jack, to a fat young man, smoking a
long black cigar, who sat in his shirtsleeves at a desk, reading
through a mass of papers.
The latter got to his feet, and held out his hand. He had a jolly face
which broke into a grin of welcome, as he extended his hand.
"That's me," he said.
Jack was rather taken aback. He had not expected to meet so young a
man in a position of such responsibility. This man could not have been
more than 26 or 28 years of age. Passing over his astonishment,
however, Jack introduced himself and his companions and then extended
the card of introduction given him a year before by Inspector Burton,
when they left Washington, but which heretofore had not been
presented.
"So," said Inspector Condon, reading the note on the back of the card;
"you are the three chaps who made such a stir in that business in
California? Mighty glad to meet you. Sit down. What can I do for
you?"
"That remains to be seen," said Jack. "However, we have run into
something rather curious, and we thought you might be interested. So
if you have time to listen, we'll spin the yarn."
"All the time in the world, friend," said Inspector Condon, genially.
"Shoot."
Thereupon, Jack proceeded to relate the story of the secret radio
plant, the mysterious plane probably controlled by radio and thus able
to operate in silence, and the facts as they had obtained them from
Mr. Temple regarding the occupant of the old Brownell place known as
the "haunted house."
"Ha," said Inspector Condon; "if that fellow is a liquor smuggler, the
'haunted house' has spirits in it, all right, all right."
And he laughed uproariously at his own joke.
"But, now, boys," he added, sobering; "an investigation into this
matter would be somewhat outside of my province. However, I'll place
this information before the prohibition enforcement officials, who
will be glad to get it, I can assure you. Let me thank you, in behalf
of the government, for coming to us with your information."
After a few more moments of conversation, during which Inspector
Condon made a note of their names and addresses, the boys left.
At the door, Jack turned for a last word.
"If we can be of any help," he said, "call on us. We have a radio
plant and an airplane at our command, and, besides, are admirably
situated near the scene."
"Fretting for more adventure, are you?" asked Inspector Condon,
clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, that's a kind offer, and I'll
pass it along to the proper people to handle this matter. If they need
any help, you'll hear from them shortly. I expect they won't let any
grass grow under their feet on this case."
When once more they stood on the sidewalk, Jack's gaze lifted to the
clock in the tower of St. Paul's. Two o'clock.
"Well, we haven't gotten very far with our adventure," he said, a bit
dispiritedly. "I thought we would start something that would give us a
bit of excitement. But, apparently, all we have done has been to let
the whole business slip out of our hands."
"Oh, forget it," said Frank irritably. The noise, the heat and the
bustle of the city had irritated his nerves. "Come on. Let's get out
of this. I hate all this hurly-burly. If we take the Subway over to
the Flatbush Avenue terminal of the Long Island Railroad, we'll just
about have time to make an express to Mineola."
The roar of the Subway was not conducive to conversation, and little
further was said until the trio boarded the train in Brooklyn, and
pulled out for the short run to Mineola. Early editions of several
afternoon newspapers were purchased at the terminal newsstand, and the
boys settled down to glance at the day's happenings when once
ensconced in the train.
Presently Frank, his irritation forgotten now that the city was being
left behind, called the attention of his companions to a first page
story under flaring headlines which read:
RUM RUNNERS LAND
BIG LIQUOR CARGO;
ELUDE "DRY NAVY."
"Say, I haven't been reading any of this stuff," said Frank. "But
after what the men told us last night about the size of these
operations, and with my interest aroused by developments at Starfish
Cove, I'm beginning to see that this defiance of the prohibition law
is just about the most stirring thing before the Nation to-day. At
least, here on the Eastern seaboard, where these smugglers are
organized and have a handy base in the West Indies."
The others nodded agreement, and the conversation proceeded in similar
vein until they tumbled from the train at Mineola. Speeding to the
flying field in a taxi, they were soon aboard the plane. This time
Frank took the wheel. And to the friendly farewells of the mechanics,
they took off and began the homeward journey.
After forty minutes of speedy flying, Bob, idly scanning the sky
through the glass, focussed upon a tiny speck in the distance. All
three had clamped on their radio receivers and hung the transmitters
by straps across their shoulders. Speaking into the transmitter now,
Bob announced:
"I think that radio-controlled plane is flying away from us, out to
sea, off to the right. I'm going to tune up to that 1,375-meter wave
length, and we'll see if there's a continuous dash in the receivers."
"All right," answered Jack, "but look out for your eardrums. The
interference at that wave length is very sharp and you want to be
ready to tune down at once, or your head will feel as if it were ready
to burst."
A moment later the high crashing shriek, with which Jack had become
familiar of late, signalled in the receivers, and Bob promptly tuned
down.
"Wow," said he. "That's it, all right. That's the continuous dash
which is being sent out from the secret radio plant to control that
little plane. Let's keep it in sight, Frank, and see where it goes.
Don't close in on it. Keep just about this distance. I can watch it
through the glass, and I'll give you your bearings if you lose sight
of it. Probably there is only one man aboard, and he won't have a
glass, and won't know we are following him."
"All right," responded Frank. "Here's where we'd turn toward shore.
But we'll stick to his trail a while."
With that he began edging the plane out to sea.