“Sure!” confided the Hawk to himself. “I thought maybe you'd dope it out like that.”
There was silence for a moment in the office, save for the intermittent clicking of the sounder, to which the Hawk now gave his attention. His pencil still made aimless markings on the top of the page—it was only routine business going over the wire. Then Lanson moved uncomfortably in his chair, and the chair legs squeaked on the bare floor.
MacVightie spoke again:
“Well,” he said bluntly, “you've got all of my end of it, except that I've placed men in hiding at every station on the line where there are no night operators. What about you? Started your outside line inspection?”
“Yes,” Lanson answered. “I've had three men out with section crews working from different points. But it's slow business making an inspection that's careful enough to be of any use, and even then it's a pretty tall order to call the turn on anything when there's already so many legitimate splices and repairs on the wires.”
“Well—any results?” asked MacVightie.
Lanson shook his head.
“We found what we thought was a new splice in one place, but it turned out to have been made by one of our own men two weeks ago, only he had forgotten to report it.”
MacVightie's eyes narrowed.
“One of our own men—eh?” he repeated curtly. “Who was it?”