CHAPTER VIIIThe Winged Messenger
“Coast seems to be clear, eh, Jack?”
Perk asked this question as they reentered their room, after having come back from supper.
“Looks that way, as far as I can see,” replied his shipmate, throwing himself down in an easy-chair, that seemed to invite attention.
“No signs o’ aour bein’ spied on so far,” asserted Perk, boldly.
“I saw nothing that looked suspicious, partner,” continued the other.
“Kinder had an idee that lanky goof at the table ’gainst the wall kept lookin’ aour way, like he had a suspicion we’d bear watchin’—did yeou happen to notice him, buddy—queer squint to one o’ his lamps, an’ a turrible long nose that made me think it jest longed to stick itself in other folks’ business.”
Jack laughed as if highly amused.
“So you reckoned he was some interested in us, did you, Perk? Well, he had a right to be, I’d say, if you asked me.”
“What’s that, partner?” asked the stouter member of the crew of the flying ship that was working for Uncle Sam’s law and order department.
“Why, he knew just who we were, and why we chanced to be in old San Diego right now—get that straight, Perk.”
“Yeou’re kiddin’ me, Jack,” whined Perk, looking hurt.
“I repeat what I said; and to make it plainer I’m adding further that man you mention not only knew us for what we are, but also why we were whispering across our table so much, when certain things came up that had to be discussed, even against our general rule never to talk shop when in public.”
“The devil he did!” ejaculated the astounded Perk; “then why did yeou jest say there didn’t seem to be any spy a hangin’ ’round on our tail, to put them critters wise to our headin’ thataways—tell me that, Mister?”
“Ask me a hard one, brother,” Jack flashed back, still amused it could be easily seen. “I’ll go a step further, and say that he was tempted to speak to us, perhaps even join us at our table; but one thing kept him from doing so, which was the iron-bound rule that one agent of Uncle Sam must never thrust himself into any game that is being conducted by another of the brotherhood.”
Perk drew in a long breath, and stared at his comrade.
“Meanin’, I kinder guess, as heow that party might be in the Secret Service like we air—does that fill the bill, Jack?”
“Just what it does,” he was told straight from the shoulder.
“Then—yeouknowhim, I’m understandin’ boy?”
“I most certainly do, Perk—you’ve heard of him many a time too, even if you’ve probably never happened to run across him. That man’s one of the smartest detectives in the whole shooting match—his name, son, is Josiah Harper, sometimes called The Hawk on account of his long beak, and the fact that he possesses abnormal eyesight.”
Perk grinned as if relieved.
“So, that’s the wonderful Hawk, is it, partner?” he was saying, as if he found it difficult to grasp the fact. “No, I never did run acrost him so far’s I know. What in tarnation kinhebe doin’ out this way—yeou don’t figger he’s goin’ to butt in on aour job, do yeou?”
“Hardly that, Perk, I should say; if he was we’d have been piped off to that effect. I reckon he had orders to run over to San Diego to catch us before we took off.”
“Does that mean he might be fetchin’ a last hour message, Jack?”
“I figured that way,” came the ready answer; “and following you across the room I managed to rub up against Harper, to have a small slip of paper pushed into my waiting hand. Here it is, and we’ll see what it carries—some last hour report, I fancy, that the Chief believes will come in handy, sooner or later.”
“Well, I swan!” gasped Perk, evidently considerably tickled over the clever work carried through by his companion, without any diner in the restaurant being the wiser, so far as they knew.
For several minutes Jack appeared to be studying the writing on the crumpled piece of rice paper he had drawn from his vest pocket and straightened out. No wonder, when the writing seemed just a crazy mess of words, and figures—undoubtedly a secret cipher used by the agents in their particular branch of the Government Service, when occasion arose to communicate with each other.
Jack was so proficient in the cipher writing that he could read it readily without applying the key; in this case he evidently was weighing each terse paragraph as he translated the same.
“Some important, I takes it, buddy?” observed Perk, who had watched the other nodding his head as he perused the message.
“Very, if we happen to be lucky enough to get close to the hideout of the gang. This little scrap of paper has a history, Perk. It was carried from the mountains where this crowd hold out, to Los Angeles by a feathered post.”
“I doan’t jest get yeou, partner—what’s a feathered post—I never yet seen anything like that—yeou got me sunk, Jack, boy.”
“You know what a carrier pigeon is, of course, Perk—well, one of the two agents who were sent out on this case several months ago conceived the bright idea of carrying a bird with him. Just as he feared might be the case they were eventually discovered, and brought to bay in a rocky canyon—the men wolves had them bottled up, so they must either surrender and take the consequences, or perish of hunger and thirst. He wrote this message in code on this thin tissue paper, fastened it under the wing of his bird, and tossed the pigeon up in the air. It may have been fired at, but since it showed up at its home cote in Angeles it escaped being killed, or even crippled.”
“Great work that, partner,” snapped the intensely interested Perk; “I shore takes off my hat to the lad who could think up sech a neat dodge. An’ right there clost to the tigers’ den he could set daown an’ write a ’portant message in code, so’s to send off his little birdie. That’s a new trick on me, I own up—a stunt worth while.”
Jack went on to interpret the contents of the little missive that had been carried all the way from the heart of the mountains. Perk listened as if bent on letting each and every word sink deeply into his receptive mind for future use.
“Them ere directions for locatin’ the place where they foregather, is shore valuable stuff fur aour crowd, Jack, ole hoss,” he finally remarked, after his chum had read the writing on the thin paper twice, putting due emphasis on certain words that had an apparently significant meaning.
“Particularly Perk, that part describing a splendid landing-field some miles distant, where we could drop down safely, and without getting close enough to the haunt for sharp ears to catch the noise of a ship’s exhaust.”
“Wust thing ’bout human bloodhounds huntin’ their prey in a bus—never will seem right to me ’til they fix things so’s we kin creep up on aour prey without tellin’ the hull world a airplane is somewhere ’round. Think that happy day ever will come, Jack?”
“Sure it will, Perk, and we’ll see it to—if it so happens we haven’t already crashed, and gone west. Why not, when such wonderful advances are being made in aviation circles every moon. Right now we’re doing a lot of amazing stunts with our ships that were never dreamed of five years ago. Anything is possible, now they’ve got started taking to the air.”
“Huh! it was time all right,” grunted Perk; “when yeou see haow all the highways air gettin’ glutted with autos, ’specially clost to big cities. Even San Diego folks find it hard to git ’round on Sundays an’ holidays. But this fresh happenin’ sorter gives me a hunch we’re agoin’ to make the ripple, an’ fetch home the bacon after all—things they air all workin’ thataways.”
“I had the last word from the weather man,” Jack went on to add; “and I’m sorry to say it wasn’t quite as fine as I’d like.”
“Storm agoin’ to hold us up, mebbe naow, partner?” suggested Perk, with one of his impatient frowns, as he disliked very much being balked in any plan.
“N—no, not quite that bad; but there are reports of a nasty field of fog gathering in the direction of the mountains far back from the coast; but we’ll have to take our chances, now we’re fixed for the jump—it may not turn out as bad as they reckon on. Let’s get ready to slip off, Perk.”