Curlie Carson Listens In | Page 9

receiver from his head,
"that means that this fellow that races all over the map has been at it
again to-night."
"About an hour ago," said Coles, wrinkling his brow.
"What did you do about it?"
"What was there to do? I tried to locate him. He danced about, first here,
then there. I marked his locations. They were never the same. See," he
pointed to the map. "I numbered them. He spoke from five different
points."
"What did he say?"
"It's all written down there," Coles motioned to a pad. "Can't make
head nor tail to it. Something about a map, an airplane, a boat and a lot
of gold."
"What kind of voice?"
"Sounded young. Some boy in late teens, I'd say. Though it might have
been a girl. She might have changed her voice to disguise it. You can't
tell. Had two cases like that in the last three weeks. You never can tell
about voices."
"No," said Curlie, thoughtfully, "you never can tell. That's about the
only thing you can be sure of in this strange old world. You can always
be sure that you never can tell. Thing that looks like one thing always
turns out to be something else.
"Point is," he continued after a moment's deep thought, "somebody's

getting past our guard. Slamming us right in the nose and we're not
doing a thing about it. Don't look like we could. I've got a theory but
you can't go searching the estate of the richest man in your city just on
theory; you've got to have facts to back you up, and mighty definite
facts, too."
"Yes, that's right," agreed Coles. "But what do you make out of all that
babble about airplane, map, ship and much gold? Do you suppose it's
some smuggling scheme, some plan to get a lot of Russian or Austrian
jewels into the country without paying duty or something like that?"
"I don't make anything out of that," said Curlie rather sharply, "and for
the time, I don't jolly much care. The thing I'm interested in is the fact
that we're being beaten; that the air about us is being torn to shreds
every night by some careless or criminal person; that we're getting a
black eye and a reprimand from the department; that sea traffic is being
interrupted; that lives are being imperiled and we can't seem to do
anything about it. That's what's turning my liver dark black!" He
pounded the desk before him until instruments rattled and wires sang.
"But how you are going to catch a fellow when he goes tearing all over
the map," said Curlie, more calmly, "is exactly what I don't know. You
go down and get a bite of chow. No, go on home and go to bed. I'll take
the rest of the shift. I want to think. I think best when I'm alone; when
the wires sing me a song; when the air whispers to me out of the night;
when the ghosts of dead radio-men, ghosts of operators who joked with
death when the sea was reaching up mighty arms to drag them down,
come back to talk to me. That's when I think best. These whispering
ghosts tell me things. When I sit here all, asleep but my ears, things
seem to come to me."
"Bah!" said Coles Masters, shivering, "you give me the creeps."
Drawing on his coat, he slipped out of the door, leaving Curlie slumped
down in his chair already all asleep but his wonderful ears.
For a full hour he sat lumped up there. Seeming scarcely to breathe,
stirring now and then as in sleep, he continued to listen and to dream.

Then suddenly he sat up with a start to exclaim out loud:
"Yes! That's it. Catch a thief with a thief. Catch a radiophone with a
radiophone. A radiophone on wheels? That's a game two can play at.
I'll do it! To-morrow night."
Snapping up a telephone receiver he murmured:
"Central 662."
A moment later he tuned an instrument and threw on a switch;
"Weightman there?" he inquired. "Asleep? Wake him up. This is Curlie
Carson. Yes, it's important. No, I'll tell you. Don't bother to wake him
now--have him over at the Coffee Shop at five bells. The Coffee Shop.
He'll know. Don't fail! It's important!"
He snapped down the receiver. Weightman was the radio mechanic
assigned to his station. He would have unusual and important work to
do that day.
He slumped down again in his chair but did not remain in that position
many minutes.
From one of the loud speakers came a persistent whisper:
"Hello. Hello, Curlie, you there?" the girlish voice purred, the one that
had whispered to him before. "I saw you to-night. That was dangerous.