Читать книгу Radio Boys in the Flying Service; or, Held For Ransom by Mexican Bandits - J. W. Duffield - Страница 6

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“What?” cried Phil in dismay. “Fifty thousand dollars? Are you sure, Mr. Eldridge?”

“Only too sure,” the latter replied. “You see it is pay day for the mills with their thousands of operatives, and the money for the payrolls was being made up, so that the money was out of the vaults and within full sight and reach of the robber. The band couldn’t have selected a moment that would have been more favorable for them. In fact, it was so well timed that I am inclined to think that the scoundrels must have had some confederate in the town who was familiar with the customs and working of the bank.”

“That means then,” said Dutton, “that the thieves still have forty thousand dollars of the bank’s money.”

“Just about that,” agreed Mr. Eldridge, “and it’s a pretty heavy amount for a bank of this size to lose. Luckily it will not affect our solvency, for the bank is perfectly sound, but it makes a dent in our surplus that we don’t like to think about. Of course, we’ll offer a reward and do everything in our power to have the gang apprehended. We’ll hope for the best. In the meantime, I want to tell you again how deeply grateful I am to you all for the splendid work you did in capturing two of the robbers and recovering so large an amount of the money.”

“Perhaps you want us to keep the amount of the loss quiet for fear of starting a run on the bank,” suggested Dutton, as the party prepared to take their leave.

“Not at all,” returned Mr. Eldridge quickly. “Thank you for the suggestion, but I shall follow a policy of perfect frankness. It’s silence and mystery that breed distrust. Spread the news as widely as you can that this loss will affect only the stockholders of the bank and that the bank is able and ready to pay every depositor dollar for dollar. We shall issue a signed statement to that effect, and I think that the bank stands high enough in the confidence of our people to have that statement accepted at par value.”

They bade him goodby and went out through the bank and down the steps. They were questioned eagerly, and told freely what Mr. Eldridge had said. There was a buzz of excited comment as the amount of the loss was made known and deep regret was the prevailing note.

If this was lacking in any one, that person perhaps was a dissipated looking young man, about twenty years old, who stood near the bottom of the steps and stared with unfriendly eyes at the boys as they passed him, at the same time muttering something in a low tone.

Dick hesitated an instant as though inclined to go back.

“Did you hear what ‘Rocks’ Gurney said?” he asked.

“Something about ‘heroes’,” answered Phil. “I suppose that was meant for a dig at us. But come along,” he continued giving a tug at his companion’s sleeve. “Don’t waste any thought on anything that Gurney says. He doesn’t count. He’s never liked the color of our eyes and hair, and he’s been especially sore on you ever since your father fired him from the bank for neglecting his work.”

“One thing struck me as a little queer,” remarked Tom.

“I happened to catch his eye just as some one mentioned the fact that the bank’s loss amounted to forty thousand dollars, and if there was ever a look of satisfaction in any one’s eyes it was in his at that moment. It was more than satisfaction; it was triumph. It was all the more noticeable too because every one else seemed to be sorry and indignant. You might almost have thought that the bank’s loss meant money in his pocket.”

“He’s a rotter all right,” said Dick, “and I suppose he’s got such a grudge against the bank because it dispensed with his valuable services that he takes delight in any bad luck that comes to it. That would be just about his size.”

“He’s getting pretty near the end of his rope in this town anyway,” remarked Phil. “He’s in with the gambling crowd and he’s been mixed up with two or three more or less shady affairs lately. He’s bad medicine and the less we have to do with him the better.”

For the next two weeks the bank robbery furnished the chief topic of conversation in Castleton. Nothing on so bold and large a scale had ever stirred up the town.

As Mr. Eldridge had surmised, the frank and prompt statement issued by the bank had a beneficial effect, and there was no run on the institution.

Descriptions of the robbers were sent broadcast all over the United States, and a reward was offered for their apprehension. Especial emphasis was laid on the scar that disfigured the leader of the band, and it was thought by the more hopeful that this mark of identification would lead to his speedy capture. But as the days passed by and lapsed into weeks without any news of the outlaws this hope began to wane and the conclusion gained ground that they had perhaps gotten over the border into Canada or Mexico.

Mr. Weston made speedy progress toward recovery and was soon able to be around again with his arm in a sling. But though he mended bodily, his spirits were greatly depressed. A large part of his own modest savings was invested in the stock of the bank, and the assessment that was levied on the stockholders to make good the loss occasioned by the robbery taxed him severely. He chafed moreover at the inaction forced upon him. Dick, who idolized his father, was full of rage at the men who had brought this shadow upon him, and it would have gone hard with any of the bandits if he could have got them within his reach.

The two robbers already in jail had been interrogated again and again in the hope that they might let something fall that would give a clue to the whereabouts of their chief. But despite all threats and cajoling, they remained stubbornly non-committal. Their finger prints had been sent to the police headquarters of all the great cities, as well as their photographs. By means of these they had been identified as desperate criminals and members of the notorious “Muggs” Murray gang. And as Murray was known to have a scar similar to that of the leader of the bandits in the Castleton robbery, it was pretty clearly established that he had been in command on that occasion. So far so good. But where was Murray? That was the question that thousands were asking, but which the police and detectives, even spurred on as they were by the promise of a reward, had not yet been able to answer.

That same question was being asked by the Radio Boys also by means of their sending sets. They had powerful transmitters, and scarcely a night passed without their sending out a reminder that “Muggs” Murray was wanted for the robbery of the Castleton bank. With the reminder they sent also a description of the outlaw and mentioned the five thousand dollar reward that was offered for his capture. They flung out these messages into the ether, knowing that it was only a chance, but still that it was a chance. They knew that their message was heard by thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands within a radius of hundreds of miles. Who knew but that one of those thousands might have seen such a man an hour before receiving the message and might be able to tell the police where they could lay their hands on him?

Dick, Tom and Phil were at the latter’s home one evening, bending over the radio set, when Professor Denby of the Castleton Academy dropped in upon them. He was a genial, likeable man, with none of the traditional primness of the pedagogue about him, and the boys had a great esteem and regard for him and had always regarded him more as a comrade than a teacher. He in his turn liked the boys immensely and was a frequent and welcome visitor to their homes.

“Transmitting again, eh?” he said with a smile as he shook hands all around and took the chair that Phil proffered him. “You boys are radio fans of the thirty-third degree.”

“You’re responsible,” laughed Phil. “It was you who set our feet upon this path of crime. When it comes to radio, that’s your middle name. There’s nobody in town that’s such a dyed-in-the-wool enthusiast.”

“Or that knows so much about it,” added Dick.

“Guilty on the first charge, but not sure about the second,” said the professor. “At the rate you fellows are going you’ll soon be able to give me points. But what are you sending out now? Something special?”

“Broadcasting the story of the robbery once more,” answered Phil. “We’ve been doing that for several nights, but nothing has come of it yet and we’re beginning to think it’s a forlorn hope.”

“Not by any means,” replied Mr. Denby. “Radio has a long arm, and it may reach out and clutch its fingers on a rascal’s neck even at the other end of the continent.”

“It used to be possible,” he continued, warming to his subject as he always did when the conversation turned on radio, “that a criminal could jump on a train, ride for a few hours until he came to a remote country place and feel as safe as though he were in the wilds of Labrador. The chances were a hundred to one that the people of a lonely little village or of a sparsely settled farming district would never hear of him or his crime, and he could lie low there in reasonable security until the hue and cry was over. But that time passed with the coming of radio. In the very farmhouse that the criminal may be approaching or past which he may be riding or walking, there may be a radio set at which the farmer or his family may have been sitting a few minutes or hours before and hearing the whole story. A stranger attracts attention anyway, and they might recognize him at once and put the police on his track. Instead of a few sleuths being on the rascal’s track, there are hundreds of thousands.”

“In other words,” put in Phil, “radio organizes the whole country into a society for the detection of crime.”

“Exactly,” agreed Mr. Denby. “It weaves an invisible net around the criminal and multiplies the chances of his being caught in the meshes sooner or later. He can’t go to any place where the radio hasn’t been before him. At the most he can go sixty miles an hour. A radio message can go at the rate of 186,000 miles a second. It puts the rogue under a tremendous handicap. Then too, the very knowledge that he has of the odds against him makes him nervous and uneasy and his very manner may betray him. That’s why I say that you’re not working on a forlorn hope in keeping after ‘Muggs’ Murray.”

“Well, we’re keeping everlastingly at it anyway and we may hit the bulls-eye at last,” replied Dick. “But now we’ve finished sending for tonight. What’s the matter with switching off and doing a little listening in? The Chicago station has a good program on for tonight.”

All were agreeable, and for perhaps half an hour they sat back and listened. They did not have to use earpieces, as Phil’s set was equipped with a loud speaker, and they heard the monologues and music as clearly as though the performers were in an adjoining room.

During an interval they were chatting together, when suddenly a voice was heard that brought Phil to his feet in an instant.

“By the great horn spoon!” he ejaculated. “If that isn’t Steve Elwood’s voice I’m a Chinaman.”

“Go way,” said Tom incredulously. “You’re spoofing us.”

“No kidding,” replied Phil earnestly. “I’ve heard it too often to be mistaken.”

They listened intently, but now all they could hear was a medley of screeches and wailing with only a few broken words that were intelligible.

“Sounds like the three witches in Macbeth,” remarked Dick. “Guess you were dreaming things, Phil.”

“Dreaming nothing,” Phil answered. “It’s static that’s kicking in and making all this racket.”

“It didn’t bother us much when we were listening to the concert,” objected Dick.

“That’s because the weather isn’t as hot up here as it is in Texas,” explained Phil. “It’s the heat that makes all kinds of trouble in radio. Just wait until I do a little tuning. I’ll get in consonance with Steve’s wave length in a jiffy.”

He moved his knobs with expert skill, and in a moment or two his efforts were rewarded. Into the room came a voice about which there could be no mistake. All recognized it as that of their absent chum, who for some months past had been serving with the Texas Rangers along the troubled Mexican border.

Static still persisted to some extent, and they occasionally missed a word or part of a sentence, but they caught the sense of the message without much difficulty.

“Hello there, Castleton,” the voice said. “Steve Elwood talking. Are you getting me? If so give me the signal. Have—important—to tell you. It’s—Muggs Murray.”