Part 12 (1/2)
”I always did appreciate Yankee nerve,” he said.
This brought something resembling a truce. Together, the three men moved on toward the center of town.
”I am going to cable Doc Savage the latest developments,” John Acre offered.
”And I am going to get in touch with Tip,” said Dido Galligan.
”Who is Tip?”
”My sister.”
NEWSPAPERS delivered in the morning are of necessity printed the night before. A number of editions are run off during the course of the night, each carrying the latest news to come in. In towns large enough to boast all-night news stands, such stands are kept supplied with the latest editions.
John Acre and his party pa.s.sed such a stand. Dido Galligan stopped to pick up a paper. He wanted to read about the earthquake, from the debris of which they had helped extract a victim.
”Hey!” he barked. ”Look at this-”
John Acre peered at the indicated headline. His jaw dropped from under the end of his beaked nose. He looked like a man who had just discovered half of a worm in an apple he was eating.
”Impossible!” he exploded.
”At least slightly exaggerated,” Dido Galligan agreed.
The headline they were inspecting read: JOHN ACRE MURDERED IN NEW YORK.
CHIEF OF SECRET POLICE SLAIN BODY THROWN IN HUDSON RIVER.
But I am not even in New York,” John Acre said in an amazed voice as he stared at the paper.
Dido Galligan scrutinized the paper more closely. Suddenly he became deathly pale. Farther down he had discovered another, smaller headline. This one said: TIP GALLIGAN SEIZED BY.
JOHN ACRE'S SLAYERS.
YOUNG WOMAN IS FAMOUS SPY.
Tip!” Dido Galligan choked. ”Tip has been kidnaped!”
Whistler Wheeler made a bewildered gesture. ”But how did they-the Little White Brother-learn Tip was coming down here?””That is simple,” said John Acre. ”Through his agents, the Little White Brother has secured copies of all outgoing and incoming radiograms. He got your messages to her.”
”I guess that's what happened,” Dido Galligan muttered. ”I've got to do something about this!”
John Acre finished skimming through the account of his own death. He reread the description of this other John Acre who had been slain, according to the papers.
”Strange,” he said wonderingly. ”They have described me most accurately. This fellow must be my twin.”
”Have you got a twin brother?” Dido Galligan demanded.
”No,” said John Acre. ”I have no brothers at all.”
Dido Galligan strained his hair through his fingers. He was perspiring, and not entirely from the heat of the night. ”What am I going to do about Tip?” he groaned. He was very upset at his sister's fate.
”I am leaving at once for New York City to see Doc Savage!” rapped John Acre. ”Perhaps that may ease your mind somewhat.”
”It does-some,” Dido Galligan murmured.
JOHN ACRE strode away swiftly. When the first taxicab pa.s.sed, he hailed it and got in. He rode it only a few blocks, alighted, and doubled erratically through the narrow streets.
Convinced no one was on his trail, John Acre entered a telegraph office. Seizing a blank, he carefully printed a message. The communication was in a secret code, the key to which John Acre kept in his head.
The head of the secret police stood at the operator's elbow while the message was being sent. Then, heedless of the telegrapher's protest, he seized the message original, applied a match to it, and ground the ashes to powder under his heel.
John Acre was feeling fairly satisfied with himself as he left the telegraph office. This was one of his messages which would not find its way into the hands of the Little White Brother! He knew the telegrapher could not possibly remember its text.
”It's in the government code, anyway,” John Acre told himself. ”If they did get it, I doubt that they could decipher it.”
His satisfaction would not have been so smug had he been able to witness what was occurring at a spot along the telegraph lines a few miles from town. Here, the wires pa.s.sed through a patch of cactus. In the thick thorns a man crouched.
The fellow had several long bamboo poles. To the ends of these, hooks were fastened. Wire ran from the hooks to portable telegraph instruments below.
The man skulking in the cactus growth had merely to reach up and hook onto the wires to tap them. He was now packing his paraphernalia. That done, he crept furtively away from the spot.
The man was an expert telegrapher. In his pocket reposed a letter-perfect copy of John Acre's communication.
Reaching a road a few hundred yards distant, the man mounted a motor cycle. He sped away into the night.
”The message was in code,” he chuckled. ”But the Little White Brother's men have a copy of the code key.”
Heedless of this bit of drama in the distant night, John Acre hurried to the town's most pretentious hostelry.
This inn bore the name of Taberna Frio.
Translated literally, the name meant the hotel where it was cool. The interior was anything but that. The clerkwas asleep with his head on the desk. Perspiration dripping off his face had formed a puddle on the desk top.
John Acre wiped at his forehead, as if the sight made him feel hotter. He went up to his room, stripped entirely naked, and stretched out on the bed, which had an insect-proof canopy. He perspired prodigiously, but he slept.
JOHN ACRE did not sleep the night through, however. Well before dawn he was awakened by a caller. This gentleman wore the uniform of a naval officer. John Acre dressed swiftly and went with the man.
”Is everything in readiness” he asked his companion.
”Yes, sir,” said the naval officer. ”I have received explicit orders from the head of the navy department.”