Part 25 (2/2)
”And, say, that reminds me,” he pointed to a square of vellum which hung on a stretcher in the corner. ”Take that over to the big library on the North Side and tell 'em it's a present from us. It's that map Vincent Ardmore gave me. It's worth a thousand dollars, but such maps are not safe outside a library. Tell 'em to put it on ice,” he laughed.
Scarcely had Joe departed than a keen-eyed, gray-haired man entered the tower room. He was Colonel Edward Marshall, Curlie's superior.
”Curlie,” he wrinkled his brow, as he took a seat, ”there's somebody raising hob with the radio service in Alaska.”
Curlie nodded his head. ”I thought there might be. Sends on 1200, doesn't he?” He was thinking of the hotel mystery and of the strange girl who had whispered to him so often out of the night.
”Yes, how did you know so much?”
”Part of my job.”
”But you've been away.”
”Radiophone whispers travel far.”
”Well,” said the colonel, settling down to business, ”Alaska's in a bad way. This fellow doesn't confine himself to 1200 up there. He uses all sorts of wave lengths; seems to take pleasure in mussing up important government communications and even more in breaking in on Munson.”
”Munson, the Arctic explorer.”
”Yes. He's making a try for the Pole. Much depends upon his keeping in touch with the outside world and this crank or crook seems determined that he shall not.”
”Why don't they catch him?”
”Well, you see,” he wrinkled his brow again, ”the boys up there are rather new at it. Don't understand the radio compa.s.s very well. The fellow moves about and all that, so it's difficult.
”I thought,” he said slowly after a moment, ”that you might like to tackle the case.”
”Would I?” exclaimed Curlie, jumping to his feet. ”Try me! Can I take Joe along?”
”As you like. Better get off pretty promptly; say day after to-morrow.”
”Never fear. We'll be off on time.”
The colonel bowed and left the room.
”Alaska! Alaska!” Curlie murmured after a time, ”Alaska and the Yukon trail, for of course it will be that. It's too late for the boats. And that reminds me, I made a promise to Gladys Ardmore. Only one night left.”
A short time after that he put in an out-of-town telephone call. It was a girlish voice that answered.
Late the next night Curlie made his way home along the well-remembered Forest Preserve road. He was riding in the Humming Bird. He had been to Gladys Ardmore's party for two and a chaperon down in the little farmhouse. The party had been a grand success and he was carrying away pleasant memories which would serve him well on the long, long Yukon trail and the weary and eventful miles which lay beyond its further terminal.
If you wish to learn of Curlie's adventures up there and of the secret of the whisperer, you must read the next volume, ent.i.tled ”On the Yukon Trail.”
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