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.