Curlie Carson Listens In | Page 6

man's private drive, but here the surface of
crushed stone was so perfectly kept that no telltale mark was to be seen.
He did not venture far, as he had no relish for being caught trespassing
on such an estate without some good explanation for his conduct. Just
at that moment he had no desire to explain.
As he turned to go back, he caught the thud-thud of hoof beats along
the private drive.
Fortunately the abundant shrubbery hid him from view. Hardly had he
reached the machine and assumed the attitude of one hunting trouble in
his engine when a girl rounded a corner at full gallop.

Dressed in full riding costume and mounted on a blooded horse, she
swung along as graceful as a lark. As she came into the public highway
she flashed Curlie a look and a smile. Then she was gone.
Curlie liked the smile even if it did come from one of the "four
hundred."
"Gee! Old Humming Bird," he exclaimed as he patted his car, "did she
mean that smile for you or for me? So there might be a girl in the case,
same as there seems to be in that one over at the hotel? Girl in most
every case. What if she sent those messages and I found her out? That
would sure be tough.
"But business is business!" He set his mouth grimly. "You can't fool
with old Uncle Sam, not when you're endangering the lives of some of
his bravest sons at sea."
He threw in the clutch and drove slowly along the road. Twice he
paused to examine the tracks made the night before. Each time he
discovered marks of the diamond tread.
"That radiophone was mounted on a car," he decided; "I'll stake my life
on that. Now if he keeps it up, how am I to catch him?"
CHAPTER III
A WHISPER IN THE NIGHT
The next night found Curlie in the secret tower room alone. Joe Marion
was away helping to run down a case of "malicious interference."
It was curious business, this work of the radio secret service. Though
he had been at it for months, Curlie had never quite got used to it. A
detective he was in the truest sense of the word, yet how different from
the kind one reads about in books.
He laughed as he thought of it now. Then as his tapering fingers
adjusted a screw, his brow became suddenly wrinkled in thought. He

was troubled by the two cases which had lately developed: the one at
the hotel and that other, the station that moved. How was he to locate
that powerful secret station in the hotel? How was he to discover the
owner of that mysterious moving radio? He could not answer these
questions. And yet somehow they must be answered. He knew that.
The operator in the hotel was sending on 1200 meter wave lengths.
State messages were constantly being sent across the Atlantic on 1200;
messages of the greatest importance. There was a conference of nations
at that moment going on in Europe. America's representative must be
kept in constant touch with the government officials at Washington. If
this person at the hotel persisted in sending messages on 1200 meter
wave lengths an important message might at any moment be blurred or
lost.
Not less important was the breaking in of this moving operator on 600.
This was the wave length used by ships and by harbor stations. Great
steamships sometimes waited for hours to get a message ashore on 600.
If this person were to be allowed to break in upon them they might wait
hours longer. Thousands of dollars would be lost. And then, as we have
said before, the message of some ship in distress might be lost because
of this person's interference.
"When, oh, when," sighed Curlie, "will people become used to this new
thing, the radiophone? When will they learn that it is a great, new
servant of mankind and not a toy? When will they take time to instruct
themselves regarding the rights of others? When will they develop a
conscience which will compel them to consider those rights?"
The answer which came to his mind was, "Perhaps never. But little by
little they will learn some things. It is my duty not alone to detect but to
teach."
He shifted uneasily in his chair, then held his ear close to the loud
speaker tuned to 200. A message came floating in to him across the air,
a mysterious whispered message.
"Hello, Curlie," it said. "You don't know me, but you have seen me--"

Automatically Curlie's fingers moved the radio-compass backward and
forward while his mind gauged the distance. His right hand scrawled
some figures on a pad, and all