Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

The San Marcos Affair tension of the armature—slowly opening and closing the key meanwhile. The proper tension reached, he grasped the key in a business-like way and made a few swift calls. “X—X,” he called; and then signed: oy? Almost immediately came a reply. “TY,” tapped the sounder as Bissel held his key closed. “What’s the good word tonight?” asked Bissel then over the wire, his fingers and wrist moving with the rhythm of a professional operator. ‘‘Has Number Seven passed yet?” “Just gone,” was the answer. ‘‘And the word is good. Boy, W has got the stuff tonight! Something to make your eyes po bas “Fine!” said Bissel. For an instant his hand seemed to tremble on the key, as if from excitement. “Fine!” he repeated then. ‘“‘T’ll be waiting.” “Good,” spelled the sounder. to tell you to be on the jump.” “T will be,” flashed Bissel. “Count on it. Good-by. I must get out to that signal.” “OQ. K.,” said the other. “Good luck.” Bissel waited for no more. He jerked out the ground plug, jerked out the plug attached to the instrument cord and closed the wire as it had been. He took the pins from the window-shades at the front of the office and raised them to their former posi- tion. He did the same at the rear. He paused a moment and swept his light around the office as if to assure himself that everything was as it had been when he entered. Then swiftly he went out the office door and closed it. The waiting-room door opened, shut. The station was silent. There was a stir on the top of the big cupboard in San Marcos depot. A guarded voice spoke, in a rushing whisper. “Crane! What in the ‘s name does all this mean?” There was the sound of a man sitting up. “Something big,” said Crane’s voice. “Something plenty big, you can be sure. I'll confess I’m a little astonished myself. Careful now. Don’t knock any of these buckets and things down. Here, slide off this way. Easy. That’s the trick. Now you’re down.”’ Together the agent and the superinten- dent stood on the office floor. Munn was clutching Tom’s arm and breathing fast. “What do you make of it, Crane?” he “W said 87 demanded. “Of course I got what went over the wire; I’m an old dispatcher.”’ “First,” replied Tom at once,” Officer Bissel is not all that he seems to be. Or, rather, he’s more than he seems to be. Second, he was talking to Operator Sperry at Bradley Junction. How doI know this? T’ll explain. “YT know wire 236. It’s a commercial and doesn’t run into any office between here and Carbon City except Bradley Junction. Also Number Seven stops at the Junction; due there at eleven-ten. It was almost exactly eleven-fifteen I figure when Bissel cut in on the wire. Then, Operator Sperry is third trick man at Bradley Junction; goes on at eleven even. ‘“‘How would they risk talking on 236? Ieasy. Bissel puts on a ground west here. Sperry has a ground on east there. With both sides cut off and nobody between they’ve got an exclusive wire, very private and confidential. Say anything and no other office will hear. Oh, yes, and Sperry would put battery on at his place. He's got it there. Have to do that, of course.” “But what stuff were they talking about? And whois W? And what signal?” Munn shot the questions out, almost dancing up and down in his excitement. “T’ve a pretty good notion as to what the stuff is,” said Tom evenly. “You'll likely see for yourself later. And I think I know who W is. I'll tell you that later. And as for the signal, I’ll tell you that now. I’m pretty near sure it’s this distant-signal out here. Let’s go see. Number Seven will be showing up in about ten minutes and we'll have to be there.” He started from the office at once, Munn by his side. They stepped out of the wait- ing-room and Tom came to a pause. ‘“‘A couple things more,” he warned “Step light, be quiet and keep to the shad- ows. Thesky’s just right; not too dark and not too light—but be careful. Now come on. Stick close and don’t whoop ’er up till you get my cue.” It was his superintendent he was talking to. But Tom never turned a hair about that; he was captain on this expedition. With a cunning that would have done credit to a couple of professional night-owls they slid down the track toward the distant- signal gleaming yellow in the night. Every dark spot was used to advantage. And presently they stood behind a low-growing COmiclboolks C©