A DARING HOLDUP
Frank Brandon shook his head and smiled.
"I'm afraid I don't know much more to tell," he said. "As I have said,
what will happen when we materially decrease the wave length, is still
in the land of conjecture. But I tell you," he added, with sudden
enthusiasm, "I'm mighty glad to be living in this good old age. What we
have already seen accomplished is nothing to what we are going to see.
Why," he added, "some scientists, Steinmetz, for instance, are even
beginning to claim that ether isn't the real medium for the propagation
of radio waves."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Bob, with interest. "Is it some sort
of joke?"
"Joke, nothing!" replied Frank Brandon. "As a matter of fact, I fully
believe that electro-magnetic waves can as easily be hurled through a
void as through ether."
The boys were silent for a moment, thinking this over. It sounded
revolutionary, but they had great respect for Frank Brandon's judgment.
"There's the Rogers underground aerial," Bob suggested tentatively, and
Brandon took him up quickly.
"Exactly!" he said. "That leans in the direction of what I say. Why, I
believe the day is coming--and it isn't so very far in the future,
either--when no aerial will be used.
"Why, I believe," he added, becoming more and more enthusiastic as he
continued, "that ten years from now we shall simply attach our receiving
outfits to the ground and shall be able to receive even more
satisfactorily than we do to-day." He laughed and added lightly:
"But who am I to assume the role of prophet? Perhaps, like a good many
prophets, I see too much in the future that never will come true."
"I don't believe it," said Bob. "I shouldn't wonder if all your prophesy
will come true in a few years."
"Well," said Herb, with a grin, "it will be a relief not to get any more
broken shins putting up aerials."
Mr. Brandon laughed.
"I'm with you," he said. "I've been there myself."
"Have you read about that radio-controlled tank?" Joe asked. "The one
that was exhibited in Dayton, I mean?"
"I not only read about it, I saw it," Mr. Brandon answered, and the boys
stared at him in surprise. "I happened to be there on business," he
said; "and you can better believe I was on hand when they rolled that
tank through the traffic."
"What did it look like?" asked Jimmy eagerly.
"The car was about eight feet long and three feet high," responded
Brandon. "It was furnished with a motor and storage batteries, and I
guess its speed was about five or six miles an hour."
"And was it really controlled by radio?" put in Herb, wishing that he
had been on the spot.
"Absolutely," returned Brandon. "An automobile followed along behind it
and controlled it entirely by wireless signals. The apparatus that does
all the work is called the selector, and it's only about the size of a
saucer. It decodes the dots and dashes and obeys the command in an
inconceivably short time--about a quarter of a second."
"It can be controlled by an airplane, too, can't it?" asked Bob, and the
radio inspector nodded.
"In case of war," he said slowly, "I imagine these airplane-controlled
tanks could do considerable damage."
Their guest left soon after that, and, of course, the boys were sorry to
have him go. His last words to them were about Cassey.
"Keep your eyes open for that scoundrel," he said, "and we'll find out
what he's up to yet."
But in the next few days so many alarming things happened that the boys
had little time to think about Dan Cassey. The alarming happenings
consisted of a series of automobile robberies in neighboring towns,
robberies committed so skillfully that no hint nor clue was given of the
identity of the robbers.
And then the robberies came nearer home, even into Clintonia itself. The
president of one of the banks left his machine outside the bank for half
an hour, and when he came out again it was gone. No one could remember
seeing any suspicious characters around.
Then Raymond Johnston, a prominent business man of the town, had his car
taken in the same mysterious manner from in front of his home. As
before, no one could give the slightest clue as to the identity of the
thieves.
The entire community was aroused and the police were active, and yet the
mystery remained as dark as ever.
Then, one day, Herb came dashing over to Bob's home in a state of wild
excitement. Joe and Jimmy were already there, and Herb stopped not even
for a greeting before he sprang his news.
"Say, fellows!" he cried, sprawling in a chair and panting after his
run, "it's time somebody caught those auto thieves. They are getting a
little too personal."
"What's up?" they demanded.
"One of dad's trucks has been held up!" gasped Herb. "In broad daylight,
too!"
"Was anything taken?" asked Joe.
"Anything? Well, I should say! They looted the truck of everything. It's
a wonder they didn't steal the machinery."
"That's a pretty big loss for your dad, isn't it?" said Bob gravely.
"It is!" replied Herb, running his fingers through his hair. "He's all
cut up about it and vows he'll catch the ruffians. Though he'll have to
be a pretty clever man if he does, I'll say."
"They do seem to be pretty slick," agreed Bob.
"I wonder if the same gang is responsible for all the robberies," put in
Joe.
"It looks that way," said Jimmy. "It looks as if there were a crook at
the head of the bunch who has pretty good brains."
"A regular master criminal, Doughnuts?" gibed Herb, then sobered again
as he thought of his father's loss.
"It's bad enough," he said gloomily, "to hear of other people's property
being stolen, but when it comes right down to your own family, it's
getting a little too close for comfort."
"What is your dad going to do about it?" asked Bob.
Herb shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture.
"What can he do?" he asked. "Except what everybody else has done--inform
the police and hope the rascals will be caught. And even if they are
caught," he added, still more gloomily, "it won't do dad much good,
except that he'll get revenge. The crooks will probably have disposed of
all their stolen property before they're caught."
"Well, I don't know," said Bob hopefully. "Those fellows are getting a
little bit too daring for their own good. Some day they'll go too far
and get caught."
"I hope so. But crooks like that are pretty foxy," returned Herb,
refusing to be cheered. "They're apt to get away with murder before
they're caught."
The lads were silent for a moment, trying to think things out, and when
Bob spoke he unconsciously put into words something of what his comrades
were thinking.
"It seems as if radio ought to be able to help out in a case like this,"
he said, with a puzzled frown. "But I must say I don't see how it can."
"It can't," returned Herb. "If some one had been lucky enough to get a
glimpse of one of the thieves, then good old radio would have its
chance. We could wireless the description all over the country and
before long somebody would make a capture."
Bob nodded.
"That's where the cunning of these rascals comes in," he said. "Either
nobody sees them at all, or when they do the thieves are so well
disguised by masks that a useful description isn't possible."
"Were the fellows who held up your father's truck masked?" asked Jimmy
with interest.
Herb nodded.
"From all I can hear," he said. "It was a regular highway robbery
affair--masks, guns, and all complete. The driver of the truck said
there were only two of them, but since they had guns and he was unarmed,
there wasn't anything he could do.
"They made him get down off the truck, and then they bound his hands
behind him and hid him behind some bushes that bordered the road. He
would probably be there yet if he hadn't managed to get the gag out of
his mouth and hail some people passing in an automobile. Poor fellow!"
he added. "Any one might have thought he had robbed the truck from the
way he looked. He was afraid to face dad."
"Well, it wasn't his fault," said Joe. "No man without a weapon is a
match for two armed rascals."
"Didn't he say what the robbers looked like?" insisted Jimmy. "He must
have known whether they were short or tall or fat or skinny."
"He said they were about medium height, both of them," returned Herb.
"He said they were both about the same build--rather thin, if anything.
But their faces were so well covered--the upper part by a mask and the
lower by bandana handkerchiefs--that he couldn't give any description of
them at all."
"I bet," Bob spoke up suddenly, "that whoever is at the head of that
rascally gang knows the danger of radio to him and his plans. That's why
his men are so careful to escape recognition."
The boys stared at him for a minute and then suddenly the full force of
what he intimated struck them.
At the same instant the name of the same man came into their minds--the
name of a man who used radio for the exchange of criminal codes, a man
who stuttered painfully.
"Cassey!" they said together, and Herb added, thoughtfully:
"I wonder!"