Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 85: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The San Marcos Affair Then from the lower shelf of the big station- ery cupboard which stood along the office wall opposite the big test switchboard he took a half-pint can of red paint. With a small stick he stirred up some of the heavy sediment from the bottom of the can. This he daubed in a wide streak from side to side on the sash where the chalk had been. He inspected the result. “That ought to be all right,” he concluded. “It shouldn’t dry before morning; and if it should happen to come in contact with somebody’s clothing it’ll not come off like chalk.” He carefully lowered the sash then and turned the catch. And five minutes later he locked up his depot and departed for the night. That was Tuesday. mi} WHEN on Wednesday morning eae Tom Crane opened the door of his office in the litttle station at San Marcos he found that for the fourth time in four weeks a despoiler had come in the night. The office floor was littered with scraps of paper, splintered thin boards and miscellaneous articles from torri-open and disordered express packages and _ boxes which the evening before had stood in neat order along the wall near the door. One of the top panes in the rear window had been smashed in, slivers of glass sparkling. here and there about. Young Crane was not surprized. He regarded the general dis- order with something between gravity and amusement. “Well, you did come again,” he observed. ‘That makes four times, in one month. Very persistent. Hoity-te-dum! Let’s see if there’s any of my red detector gone.” The intruder had gained entrance by the simple expedient of breaking the top win- dow-pane, reaching in and turning back the catch, then raising the lower sash. Upon departure the visitor had not bothered to pull down the sash; it still was raised. The slender, steel brake-shoe key—taken froma car on the siding—which he had used to break the glass and which also had served as a jimmy with which to pry up the sash, was lying on the window-sill. A little splotch of red paint showed that it had been used in the latter manner; this seemingly indi- cating that the man had not touched the paint with his fingers, hence would not have been made suspicious of a trap. 79 Placing the brake-shoe key to one side, Crane examined the under edge of the raised sash. He saw at once that in one place the paint was smeared into a slightly broader streak than he had made—as if something had brushed against it. Crane grinned. “That will be something to watch for!’ he said. From the window then he turned and once more contemplated his untidy floor. ‘“‘There’ll not be much missing,” he sur- mised. “There never has been before and I don’t believe there will be now. Pure danged cussedness, one might think. Yes, one might. Anyway, I'll be dished if I wire the old man or our honorable police department. I’m sick of that. All they’d do would be send that shiny-faced, fat- necked, greasy-cheeked, bald-pated Officer Bissel down here to investigate. I’ll not deny it; that policeman fellow gives me one large overdeveloped pain.” He pinched his lower lip reflectively for a moment. “T’ll tell you what I might do though,” he said then. “If I don’t read sign on any- body’s garment by noon I might hop on Number Sixty-six and run in to Carbon City to see the old man. I ought to reach some sort of an understanding with him. This thing’s gone far enough. That sounds pretty good; I’d almost bet it’s what I’m liable to do.” He pulled some of the plugs from the long test switchboard that extended along one side of the office; whereat the telegraph sounders began to clatter. The Carbon City wire-chief was calling him for a test, and for the next ten or fifteen minutes Crane was busy at the board, pushing plugs in there, pulling them out here, grounding, patching, opening, closing, very expertly. “How are 235, 236 and 237 there?’ qucried the wire-chief presently. “Closed straight—”’ began Tom and then he noticed that a bottom plug was missing from wire number 236. ‘235 and 237 are closed straight,” he corrected. ‘236 is open.” 3 “How come 236 is open?” asked the W. C. “Can’t say,” replied Tom. “Thought I had ’em all closed last night.” As he finished his eyes happened to drop downward and there, right close to a rifled package, he noticed a plug lying. He opened his key again. C© MICLOOOKS C© S|