THE BUZZING SOUND
"Are you Mrs. Damon?" came the question again--rather more
impatiently this time, Tom thought.
"Yes," answered the lady, glancing over at Tom. The extension
telephone was in the same room. Softly Tom switched on the
phonograph attachment. The little wax cylinder began to revolve
noiselessly, ready to record the faintest word that came over the
wire.
"You got a message from me yesterday," went on the hoarse voice.
In vain Tom tried to recall whether or not he had heard it before.
He could not place it.
"Who are you?" asked Mrs. Damon. She and Tom had previously agreed
on a line of talk. "Tell me your name, please."
"There's no need for any names to be used," went on the unknown at
the other end of the wire. "You heard what I said yesterday. Are
you willing to send me those land title papers, if we release your
husband?"
"But where shall I send them?" asked Mrs. Damon, to gain time.
"You'll be told where. And listen--no tricks! You needn't try to
find out who I am, nor where I am. Just send those papers if you
want to see your husband again."
"Oh, how is he? Tell me about him! You are cruel to keep him a
prisoner like this! I demand that you release him!"
Tom had not told Mrs. Damon to say this. It came out of her own
heart--she could not prevent the agonized outburst.
"Never mind about that, now," came the gruff voice over the wire.
"Are you willing to send the papers?"
Mrs. Damon looked over to Tom for silent instructions. He nodded
his head in assent.
"Yes, I--I will send them if you tell me where to get them to you--if
you will release Mr. Damon," said the anxious wife. "But tell
me who you are--and where you are!" she begged.
"None of that! I'm not looking to be arrested. You get the papers
ready, and I'll let you know to-morrow, about this time, where to
send them."
"Wait a minute!" called Mrs. Damon, to gain more time. "I must
know just what papers you want."
"All right, I'll tell you," and he began to describe the different
ones.
It took a little time for the unknown to give this information to
Mrs. Damon. The man was very particular about the papers. There
were trust deeds, among other things, and he probably thought that
once he had possession of them, with Mrs. Damon's signature, even
though it had been obtained under a threat, he could claim the
property. Later it was learned that such was not the case, for
Mrs. Damon, with Tom's aid, could have proved the fraud, had the
scoundrels tried to get the remainder of the Damon fortune.
But at the time it seemed to the helpless woman that everything
she owned would be taken from her. Though she said she did not
care, as long as Mr. Damon was restored to her.
As I have said, the telephoning of the instructions about the
papers took some time. Tom had counted on this, and had made his
plans accordingly.
As soon as the telephone call had come in, Tom had communicated
with a private detective who was in waiting, and this man had gone
to the drug store whence the first call had come. He was going to
try to make the arrest of the man telephoning.
But for fear the scoundrel would go to a different instrument, Tom
took another precaution. This was to have one of the operators in
the central exchange on the watch. As soon as Mrs. Damon's house
was in connection with another telephone, the location of the
latter would be noted, and another private detective would be sent
there. Thus Tom hoped to catch the man at the 'phone.
Meanwhile Tom listened to the hoarse voice at the other end of the
wire, giving the directions to Mrs. Damon. Tom hoped that soon
there would be an arrest made.
Meanwhile the talk was being faithfully recorded on the phonograph
cylinder. And, as the man talked on, Tom became aware of a curious
undercurrent of sound. It was a buzzing noise, that Tom knew did
not come from the instrument itself. It was not the peculiar
tapping, singing noise heard in a telephone receiver, caused by
induced electrical currents, or by wire trouble.
"This is certainly different," mused Tom. He was trying to recall
where he had heard the noise before. Sometimes it was faint, and
then it would gradually increase, droning off into faintness once
more. Occasionally it was so loud that Mrs. Damon could not hear
the talk about the papers, and the man would have to repeat.
But finally he came to an end.
"This is all now," he said, sharply. Tom heard the words above the
queer, buzzing, humming sound. "You are keeping me too long. I
think you are up to some game, but it won't do you any good, Mrs.
Damon. I'll 'phone you to-morrow where to send the papers. And if
you don't send them--if you try any tricks--it will be the worse
for you and Mr. Damon!"
There was a click, that told of a receiver being placed back on
the hook, and the voice ceased. So, also, did the queer, buzzing
sound over which Tom puzzled.
"What can it have been?" he asked. "Did you hear it, Mrs. Damon?"
"What, Tom?"
"That buzzing sound."
"Yes, I heard, but I didn't know what it was. Oh, Tom, what shall
I do?"
"Don't worry. We'll see if anything happened. They may have caught
that fellow. If not I'll plan another scheme."
Tom's first act was to call up the telephone exchange to learn
where the second call had come from. He got the information at
once. The address was in the suburbs. The man had not gone to the
drug store this time.
"Did the detective get out to that address?" asked Tom eagerly of
the manager.
"Yes. As soon as we were certain that he was the party you wanted,
your man got right after him, Mr. Swift."
"That's good, I hope he catches him!" cried the young inventor. "We'll
have to wait and find out."
"He said he'd call up and let you know as soon as he reached the
place," the telephone manager informed Tom.
There was nothing to do but wait, and meanwhile Tom did what he
could to comfort Mrs. Damon. She was quite nervous and inclined to
be hysterical, and the youth thought it wise to have a cousin, who
had come to stay with her, summon the doctor.
"But, Tom, what shall I do about those papers?" Mrs. Damon asked
him. "Shall I send them?"
"Indeed not!"
"But I want Mr. Damon restored to me," she pleaded. "I don't care
about the money. He can make more."
"Well, we'll not give those scoundrels the satisfaction of getting
any money out of you. Just wait now, I'll work this thing out, and
find a way to catch that fellow. If I could only think what that
buzzing sound was--"
Then, in a flash, it came to Tom.
"A sawmill! A planing mill!" he cried. "That's what it was! That
fellow was telephoning from some place near a sawmill!"
The telephone rang in the midst of Tom's excited comments.
"Yes--yes!" he called eagerly. "Who is it--what is it?"
"This is Larsen--the private detective you sent."
"Oh, yes, you were at the drug store."
"Yes, Mr. Swift. Well, that party didn't call up from here."
"I know, Larsen. It was from another station. We're after him.
Much obliged to you. Come on back."
Tom was sure his theory was right. The man had called up the Damon
house from some telephone near a sawmill. And a little later Tom's
theory was proved to be true. He got a report from the second
detective. Unfortunately the man had not been able to reach the
telephone station before the unknown speaker had departed.
"Was the place near a sawmill?" asked Tom, eagerly.
"It was," answered the detective over the wire. "The telephone is
right next door to one. It's an automatic pay station and no one
seems to have noticed who the man was who telephoned. I couldn't
get a single clue. I'm sorry."
"Never mind," said Tom, as cheerfully as he could. "I think I'm on
the right track now. I'm going to lay a trap for this fellow."