II
They stood and stared at each other. A night journey away was Neuburg and Gunning and Siwash Mike and Joe Wandersun’s wife. They were unsuspecting. They were preparing for some terrible crime perhaps, but they were unsuspecting.
Behind them were the two women going in a fast car to the Banff Springs Hotel. The woman who had most to fear was also unsuspecting. But she would cease to be so after she had been in the foyer of the hotel many minutes. She would ask for a message, a letter, or a wire—and she would not get one. At once because of her fear she would become anxious. She would communicate with Neuburg. He would be warned. He would know at once that his letter had gone astray, that something was wrong, and he would take steps to meet the crisis.
And the men moving towards him were standing in the saloon of a moving train, hanging, as it were, between the two danger points in a traveling isolation. What could they do?
Gatineau said “Hell” again, and then he said, “She’ll wire, sure.”
“Or ’phone,” said Clement.
“Yes, she might.... But who to? Joe’s wife, Mrs. Wandersun, went up to Gunning’s shack in a motor boat. She left word she wouldn’t be back. Remember, left word an’ a letter.”
“Siwash Mike, or Herbert Lucas, as he calls himself, may be there waiting for the ladies.”
“Yep, that’s so,” he thought a while. “But their shack might not have a ’phone. It’s unlikely, I think. An’ then ’phoning—would she risk it? Miss Reys might come in on her as she spoke.”
“You think she’d wire?”
“Sure I think she’d wire,” said Gatineau, his face brightening a little.
“But how does it help? I know if we could get in touch with Sicamous we could stop it ... but from a moving train.... One of these pocket wireless sets would be very handy just now.”
“Got it,” shouted Gatineau.
“Got what, you little train jumper?” said a large, genial man coming into the saloon.
The little detective all but leaped at the superintendent.
“Walt, have you a train telegraph set in this car?” he cried.
“Good Lord!” said Walt. “What’s the joke?”
“I’m asking—have you?”
“Of course I have,” said Walt. “What’s the answer?”
He didn’t get an answer. Instead, Gatineau swung round on Clement with a great laugh. “We’ve got ’em. Walt, here, will stop the train.”
“Walt, here, will be asked to do it first. Then he’ll think about it,” said Walt, with just that tinge of asperity that showed he had not been too neatly handled. Gatineau noticed that tone in a flash.
“Say, Walt, I guess I’m a bit fresh. We’re rather rattled, Mr. Seadon and me.... Oh, Walt, meet Mr. Clement Seadon, a friend of The Chief’s.... We’re on a big thing, a big criminal thing, and we did something quite stupid back in Banff that we can only put straight by telegraphing, an’ at once.”
“It may save a murder,” said Clement, watching the big man.
“Holy Mike!” cried the big Walt.
“Well, we’re afraid of that,” agreed Gatineau. “You see, we daren’t wait!”
“You won’t wait,” said the superintendent. “I’m getting that set.” He began to run out of the saloon.
“All right, Walt,” called Gatineau. “We’ve got to figure out that wire first.”
He went over to the little writing desk near the rear window. He switched on the desk lamp and selected cable forms. At once he wrote: “Hold all wires from Méduse Smythe to Newman or Neuburg.” He looked up. “Will that do?” he asks. “Our man knows Neuburg; he’ll know what that telegram means. An’ we mustn’t block other wires. Neuburg may be expecting one from Nimmo at Montreal, f’rinstance, and might get anxious if he didn’t get it.”
“That’s true,” said Clement over Gatineau’s shoulder. “And while we’re stopping Méduse’s getting to Neuburg by wire, we might stop her getting to him in person. Write this:
‘Wire Méduse Smythe Banff Springs Hotel as follows: All clear. Have seen Landor Revelstoke. All will be well. Don’t communicate him. Will let you know to-morrow or next day when you can come on here. Wait. No reason anxiety. Englishman who does not look brainy safely interned Montreal. Arthur Newman.’”
“Do you think that will answer?”
“It’ll answer fine—if she’s not suspicions.”
“She won’t be suspicious—if Arthur Newman isn’t. This is from Arthur Newman.”
The little detective considered it carefully. “You’re right. It bears the authentic stamp of Arthur. Wondered why you were putting in that bit about the foxy bank man, Landor of Revelstoke. But I see why. Feeling that Newman is the only one to know about him, she’ll be certain this wire’s from him. An’ she’ll stay quiet at Banff accordingly.”
“That’s the idea. You feel confident that your man will send it correctly—as though it really, did come from Newman, I mean?”
“Rely on him. Walt, we’re ready if you are.”
The superintendent had been busy in the saloon with the young man who acted as his clerk. On the saloon table a telegraph instrument had been set up, and the young man was active with what looked like a long bamboo fishing pole that had electric flex instead of fishing line attached to it, as well as a curious hook at its top end. Walt gave orders to the youth to stop the train.
In a minute the long train groaned to a standstill, and at once the young man dropped from the observation platform at the rear of the car, and, first hooking the bamboo rod over one of the telegraph wires beside the track, did various things with electric plugs. Then he came back to the saloon and began working the telegraph instrument. “Through to Sicamous,” he said.
Gatineau pushed the slip forward, “There’s your message.”
In a surprisingly short time the young man said, “They’re O.K.ing.”
“Ask them to repeat,” said Gatineau.
The young man wrote down the message as it clicked back, Gatineau watching his writing hand. He had written the last word only when the detective said, “O.K. That’s all.” Then the bamboo pole and the plugs were disconnected, the instrument dismantled, a guard waved a light and the train moved on.
“Five minutes,” smiled Walt. “That’s how it’s done, Mr. Seadon.”
“Yes, you people make the check-mating of rogues seem child’s play,” smiled Clement, and he went to his bunk almost with serenity.