CHAPTER XVII

Jimmy Triumphs Over Rand

When Jimmy and his lawless friend from the border reached New York late the next morning with the first photographs of the wreck to arrive in that city and with some additional facts about the wreck, the rum runner wanted to say good-bye at once, but Jimmy would not consent to this. He insisted that they go see the managing editor. Finally the bootlegger, whose name was LaRoche, agreed, and early that afternoon the two met again at the _Morning Press_ building. They were at once admitted to the managing editor’s office.

“Well, Jimmy, you seem to have had another interesting adventure,” said Mr. Johnson, as he welcomed his subordinate. “I’m mighty glad you got out of it safe and sound.”

Jimmy introduced LaRoche to Mr. Johnson, then said: “You speak of my having another adventure, Mr. Johnson. What do you refer to?”

“Why, to your trip out to the island through the storm last night. I judge that was an experience you won’t soon forget.”

“For me it was an adventure,” said Jimmy, “though to Mr. LaRoche it was a very ordinary experience, I judge. I shall not soon forget it. Nor shall I forget the other adventure I had.”

“The other adventure! You speak in riddles, Jimmy.”

Jimmy told his chief about the beacon in the bog, about his landing in a swamp and being hopelessly disabled, and about the two telegrams received by the postmaster of Smithville.

While Jimmy was talking he could not fail to notice the countenance of his chief. The most extraordinary expressions followed one another on the managing editor’s face. Interest, amazement, concern, and finally an expression of angry determination were all momentarily portrayed on Mr. Johnson’s expressive countenance.

“Now I understand everything,” said he.

Jimmy waited for enlightenment.

“While you have been gathering a story of heroism and death in the north,” said the managing editor, “I have been picking up one of cowardice and treachery here in New York. I didn’t fully understand what it all meant until I heard what you have just told me. Now I comprehend it all. Your story and mine make a beautiful mosaic. They dovetail together into a completed tale. Would you like to hear _my_ end of that tale?”

Jimmy was all eagerness. “I can’t imagine what you have in mind,” said Jimmy, “but of course I want to hear about it.”

“Very well, here it is. Your friend, Mr. LaRoche, will be interested, too. He has had some small part in the story, too.”

Both the managing editor’s hearers looked their astonishment.

“When you set out for Smithville last night, Jimmy,” began the managing editor, “we did everything we could possibly do at this end to make your flight both safe and successful. I sent you reluctantly. I knew flying conditions could not be any too good in a region where a great steamer had just been blown ashore. The fact is, I was a little conscience-smitten, I guess. Your narrow escape at Mingoville has been constantly in my mind. But I allowed you to go—yes, I even urged you to go—and after you had taken off I began to worry about you and so I quite naturally left nothing undone to insure the safety of your trip.”

Both Jimmy and his companion were completely mystified. They sat in silent expectation, waiting for what was to follow.

“First of all,” continued Mr. Johnson, “I sent Johnnie Lee over to your hangar. There was nothing in particular for him to do except to be there in case you should send back any radio messages as you flew. You see, I have learned about your Wireless Patrol and how skilful all you boys are with the wireless. So it occurred to me that Johnnie might be able to handle a radio conversation better than almost anybody else on the staff. Johnnie went over to the flying field immediately.”

The managing editor paused as though to arrange his thoughts. After a moment he continued. “Johnnie seems to be very wide awake. He evidently nosed around the field and soon learned that the _Despatch_ man was having trouble to get his plane into the air. The _Despatch_ no doubt received the flash about the wreck of the lake steamer at the same time we got it. Its plane should have taken the air as quickly as you got aloft with our ship, Jimmy. But something went wrong with it. An hour after you had departed, the pilot and his mechanics were still working desperately to get the ship into shape to fly. Johnnie didn’t know what was wrong, and of course he didn’t make inquiries in a rival’s hangar. But he did discover that the reporter who was to be flown in the plane was the fellow he had seen at the coal mine disaster at Krebs. He knew that the fellow had played you some dirty tricks, and he decided he would keep an eye on him.”

“You bet Johnnie would,” interrupted Jimmy. “He’s a real friend.”

“Well,” continued the managing editor, “this chap Johnnie was watching. Rand presently went to the office in his hangar. Johnnie strolled over that way and peeped in. Rand was standing by a closet in the rear of the office. The door was open only part way, but Johnnie could see that Rand was talking into a telephone receiver that stood on a shelf in this closet. This seemed queer to Johnnie, because there on the desk was the regular instrument. Johnnie tiptoed close to a window, which was open a crack for ventilation. He was in the dark and could not be seen. He heard Rand say something about ‘skis on a plane’ and ‘flying farther north from there.’ Johnnie of course couldn’t make anything out of that, and quite naturally he never connected the message with your flight.”

Jimmy drew a long breath. “I understand the whole story now,” he said.

“Not quite, Jimmy. Let me go on. Rand got off eventually and the force at Rand’s hangar went home. Johnnie came back to our hangar. But there wasn’t a thing to do, aside from making frequent inquiries at the radio office, and he got to wondering about that queer telephone he had seen Rand use. So he picked up a flash-light, slipped into Rand’s office, which was unlocked, and went to the closet. It was locked. Johnnie had his keys and with one of them was able after a little effort to unlock the closet. There was the telephone, on a separate wire, which came up through the floor. You know how ramshackle those hangars are. Well, Johnnie was able to trace that wire. And where do you think it ran?”

“I don’t know,” said Jimmy.

“It was spliced to our own telephone wire. In short, Rand had tapped the wire in our hangar, so he could overhear our conversations.”

“Quite evident,” said Jimmy. “But what I don’t understand is why Rand was _tallying_ on our wire. That would give him away, sure.”

“I couldn’t have understood it either, had it not been that I had occasion to talk to a Western Union man. I had already arranged to have the wire at Smithville opened for you, Jimmy, but about three hours after you took off I had to call the telegraph people again. And it was only by the merest chance that the matter was mentioned then. The fellow I was talking with remarked that he had just come down from Canada and that unless my reporter was going pretty far north, he would have trouble landing on skis. I didn’t know what he meant. That brought out the fact that a second telegram had been sent about the matter of a landing ground at Smithville. I knew you had no skis on your plane now and I said there must be a mistake about the message. The telegraph official assured me that you had sent a second message from Long Island. When I checked up on the time the message was sent, I saw right away what had happened. Some one had sent a message in your name. We traced the call and it came over our wire.”

The managing editor paused. “Please go on,” said Jimmy, who was sitting tensely on the edge of his chair.

“Well, I got in touch with Johnnie over at the field. He had just ferreted out the secret telephone wire. It was easy enough then to put two and two together. But the thing that worried me was the plight you were in, Jimmy. I knew that unless you had had a mishap on the way, you were already at Smithville. Whatever was to happen had already happened. I got a connection on the telephone with the postmaster up there—the fellow you said you knew—and he said you had gone out on the lake with Mr. LaRoche here, and that nobody in the town expected to see you come back alive. So you can understand how anxious I was and how tremendously pleased I was when your story began to come in. By the way, Jimmy, what about your plane? What is to be done about it?”

“Oh, I have already arranged about that. The plane isn’t really hurt any. The propeller is gone, and maybe the undercarriage is damaged some. But the ship itself is all right. I left directions for the plane to be pulled out on firm land and cleaned thoroughly. They are to wire me as soon as this is done and tell me if anything is needed. Then I shall go up there with my mechanic and put on a new prop and make any other repairs necessary. I don’t think the job will amount to much.”

“You were mighty lucky, Jimmy, and we were all tremendously relieved when we found you were safe. Of course we are pleased about the story. We scooped the town, as I suppose you already know. But that was a small matter alongside of your safety.”

“What I want to know,” said Jimmy, trying to change the subject, “is what to do about Rand. He is a poor loser. Every time I beat him he tries some underhand work. What am I to do about it? I could beat him up, and I once threatened to do it; but that would not stop him from attempting these dirty tricks.”

“Jimmy,” said Mr. Johnson, “you are not to do anything about Rand. I will attend to that. In fact, I have already attended to it. Here is a