SIGNALS IN CODE.
In one of the broadcasting rooms of Station KYK a famous dance band was
setting up its instruments preparatory to a half hour’s entertainment.
The players were laughing and joking, with no need for silence. The
power had been switched to a little room overhead where Officer Dave
Cates, official police announcer, was holding forth in code to police
details all over the great city.
“Nothing further has been done by those in authority about the addition
of fifty new plain-clothes men to the force,” Cates said into the
microphone. “Headquarters is inquiring into the matter, however, and
may be expected to give out more information at any time.”
All of which meant to the listening ears of the police:
“There have been no more developments in the Van Goss jewelry robbery
of two weeks ago. Headquarters is planning to assign more men to the
case.”
This was the job of Dave Cates, who was listed on the books as an
officer solely because of his connection with the department. He was a
verbal messenger boy, conveying the reports and orders of headquarters
over the air to the police details of the city. Because plenty of red
blood flowed through the small body of Officer Cates the job sometimes
got very tiresome.
If only he could go out on such a case as the Van Goss robbery, he
would find the action he craved. Then again, the solving of such a case
with its monetary reward would bring his dream that much nearer; a
dream intimately concerned with a hazel-eyed, laughing little dancer
and a white, green-shuttered bungalow with a forty-foot garden plot out
back.
Probably Anabelle Talbot was listening in to him now. She usually did
every evening before she went out to the Salon Quintesse to dance to
the music of Leo Archer’s famous band.
Cates sighed and glanced at the electric clock on the wall. “There is
yet five minutes of time remaining to us,” he announced, “but since
there doesn’t seem to be any more----”
He stopped suddenly. Some one had come hurriedly into the little
telephone room and was talking in excited, petulant tones.
“A woman,” Cates murmured. “Now what the deuce does she want up here?”
Louder, he said, “Please stand by for one moment.” Then he stepped into
the telephone room.
A young woman was firing questions at the harassed telephone operator.
Her clothes, her manner and her intonation, told Cates that she was a
woman of culture and apparent wealth.
With her was a man in his early thirties. Tall, lean, handsome, with a
cynical mouth and a complexion that tended to the sallow, Cates
recognized him instantly as Leo Archer, leader of the dance band which
was waiting below.
Archer was leaning indolently against the door, obviously bored by the
proceedings. He stifled a yawn as Cates looked at him.
“Here he is now,” grumbled the operator, “S’pose you talk to him.”
The young woman turned swiftly. “You are Mr. Cates, the police radio
announcer?” she asked.
“Yes.” Cates noticed that her face was white and distracted, that her
lips were trembling. He failed however to see that first faint look of
surprise in her eyes.
It was difficult for most radio listeners to reconcile Dave Cates’
rich, golden voice with his small, stocky body, his sandy hair and his
freckled face.
“Yes, I’m Cates,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh!” Her exclamation was part sob. “I--I came up to tell you that I
have just been robbed of a very valuable necklace and two diamond
rings. I thought you might broadcast it to the police. That seemed
better than--than----” Her voice trailed away.
Cates’ blue eyes lighted with interest. Could this robbery be connected
with the Van Goss robbery? He thought quickly how strange it was that
she had happened to report it to him first. He wasn’t superstitious,
but---- A fleeting picture of the bungalow went through his mind.
“Certainly,” he said promptly. “Your name and address, please?”
“Miss Meusel--Miriam Meusel--apartment No. 8 at the Dutton Arms.”
“Can you describe the robbery briefly, Miss Meusel, and give me any
clews you may have to the bandit’s appearance? This is just so the
patrolmen in the vicinity can be notified to watch out for a certain
type.”
Cates’ coolness seemed to steady the young woman.
“I haven’t any clues or any ideas about it,” she told him. “I just
returned to my apartment and found out then that the jewelry had been
taken from my wall compartment.”
“About what time should you say it was taken?”
“Some time between four thirty and eight. That was the time I was out.”
“I see.”
Cates glanced at the clock as he went back to the microphone. He saw
that the time was eight thirty-three. It would do little good to report
this robbery by air; still, it would be imparting instantly such meager
information as he had.
Briefly, in code, Dave Cates announced the robbery. Then he signed off
for the evening and returned to Miss Meusel and Archer.
“The information has been given, Miss Meusel,” he said. “We can’t do
much more until we get more facts.”
“That won’t do you any good,” yawned Archer. “You chaps couldn’t see
anything that was plain before your eyes.”
Cates looked at the man. Naturally hot-headed, he had trouble in
checking the retort that impulse prompted. Archer’s contemptuous remark
reflected upon the department and, hence, reflected upon Cates. Then
and there he accepted the challenge.
He turned to the telephone operator. “Henry, connect me with Captain
Henessey, will you?”
In a moment the captain’s gruff voice sounded: “Police headquarters.”
“This is Cates,” reported the radio cop. “Get the dope all right?”
“Too well. Where are you now?”
“At KYK.” Cates drew a deep breath and braced himself. “Captain, how’s
for me to go over and take a look at Miss Meusel’s apartment?”
“You!”
“Sure. I can get the dope for you. I know I can.”
Silence for a moment. Cates could imagine the energetic veteran
considering.
Presently: “All right, go ahead. You can’t do any worse than the
others, anyway. And listen; you know how you like to talk when you get
started? Well, cut it out, and let the others talk. Understand?”
Cates grinned. “Yes, captain,” he said meekly.
“All right, then. Bring me as full a report as you can get.”
Exultantly Cates turned from the phone.
“Now, Miss Meusel,” he said, “if you don’t mind I’ll go over to your
apartment.”
Archer left them at the door to the KYK studios.
“My band starts broadcasting in ten minutes,” he explained, “otherwise
I’d go over with you, Miriam.” He grinned sardonically at Dave Cates.
“Oh, pardon me. I forgot the master mind here.”
“Don’t pay any attention to what he says, Mr. Cates,” urged Miss
Meusel.
“I don’t,” said Officer Cates quietly.