Curlie Carson Listens In | Page 4

of the eating place.
"That's me," exclaimed Curlie, jumping up.
"Telephone."
"All right. Be back in a minute, Joe." Curlie was away to answer the call.
"'Lo. That you, Curlie?" came through the receiver. "This is Coles Masters. Got a bad case--extra bad. Can't understand it. Fellow's sending 600 meter waves, with enough power to cross the Atlantic."
"Six hundred!" exclaimed Curlie in a tense whisper. "Why, that's what they use for S.O.S. at sea! It's criminal. Endangers every ship in distress. Five years in prison for it. Get him, can't you?"
"Can't. That's the trouble. Every time I think I've got him spotted he seems to move."
"To move!"
"Yes, sir."
"That's queer! I'll be up right away."
"Come on," exclaimed Curlie, grabbing his hat and dragging Joe to his feet. "It's a big one. Moves, he says. Sends 600; big power. Bet it's that same hotel fellow. Gee whiz! Supposing it turned out to be that sixteenth story girl and she caught me spying on her. I tell you it's something big!"
Impatient at the slowness of the up-shooting elevator, Curlie at last leaped out before the iron door at the top was half open, then two steps at a time sprang up a flight of stairs. Out of breath, he arrived at the final landing, sprang through the door to the secret tower room, then seizing his headpiece, sank into a chair.
By a single move of the hand, Coles Masters indicated the radio-compass he had been listening in on.
"That's where he was, last time he spoke," he grumbled, "but no telling where he'll be next. He's been dodging all over that stretch of country."
Curlie's fingers moved rapidly. He adjusted the coil of a radio-compass here, another there and still another here. He twisted the knob of each to the 600 mark, then, twisting the tuning knobs, lined them all up to receive on the same wave length. The winding of each was set at a slightly different angle from any other.
"That about covers him," he mumbled. "Get the distance?"
"Near as I could make out," said Coles Masters, "it was from ten to fifteen miles. He moves toward us, then away at times, just as he does to right and left."
"Hm," sighed Curlie, resting his chin on his hands. "That's a new dodge, this moving business. Complicates things, that does."
For a time he sat in a brown study. At last he spoke again, this time quite as much to himself as to the other:
"Folks don't move unless they have a way to move. That fellow has some means of locomotion. Anyway," he sighed, "it's not our friend of the big hotel unless--unless he or she or whoever it is has taken to locomotion, and that's not likely. Not the same side of the city. Out near the forest preserve."
"Yes, or a little beyond," said Coles.
"What do you think," asked Curlie suddenly, "has he got an automobile or an airplane?"
"Can't tell," said Coles thoughtfully. "You can't really judge distances in air accurately. There are powerful equipments which might be mounted on either automobiles or airplanes."
"The thing that puzzled me, though, was his line of chatter. All about some 'map, old French,' and a lot of stuff like that. I--"
Suddenly he broke off. A grinding sound had come from one of the loud speakers. There followed in a clear, strong voice:
"Map O.K. Old French is amazing. Good for a million."
Curlie's fingers were busy once more as a tense look drew his forehead into a scowl.
"About fifteen miles," he whispered.
Then the voice resumed:
"Time up the bird. When?"
A tense silence ensued. Then, faint, as if from far away, yet very distinctly there came the single word:
"Wednesday." This was followed by three letters distinctly pronounced: "L.C.W."
A second later came the strong voice in answer: "A.C.S."
"That," said Curlie as he settled back in his chair, "in my estimation ends the night's entertainment. But the nerve of the fellow!" he exploded. "Sending that kind of rot on six hundred. Why, at this very moment some disabled ship might be struggling in a storm on the Great Lakes or even on the Atlantic, and this jumble of words would muddle up their message so its meaning would be lost and the ship with it. The worst I could wish for such a fellow is that he be dropped into the sea with some means of keeping afloat but with neither food nor drink and a ship nowhere in sight."
If Curlie had known how exactly this wish was to be granted in the days that were to come, he might have experienced some strange sensations.
He straightened up and placed a dot on the map before him.
"That's where he was. I'll motor out in the morning and have a look at things. May discover some clew."
Curlie was a bright American boy of the very best type. Like most American