“They stopped right in the middle,” said Emerson.
Then suddenly Pee-wee caught the friendly, ingratiating voice of the announcer at O.U.J. Nothing could ruffle that gentlemanly tone. He would have announced the end of the world in a voice of soft composure.
“Listen!” said Pee-wee, “he’s saying something.”
He was certainly saying something. He had evidently begun saying it before Pee-wee had succeeded in arresting that soft voice. From the rather startling nature of his announcement (or such of it as our listeners-in heard) it seemed likely that the Jamboree Jazz Band had been summarily silenced in the interest of this important matter. The boys listened attentively, Pee-wee spellbound as the voice continued:
“... and the police department of New York will be glad of any information that might be helpful in running down this car.”
“Listen!” Pee-wee gasped in a tragic whisper. “He’s finished, we missed it,” said Emerson. But the announcer continued, hesitating now and then, as if putting into his own words a request made from some other source, “Every effort is being made to head off this car in Westchester County in this state but it is thought not unlikely that the thieves may have crossed one of the Jersey ferries with it, probably an uptown ferry, and be heading through northern New Jersey. If the car was stolen by gypsies, as is suspected——”
Here the announcer’s voice was drowned in a riot of irrelevant sounds characteristic of Pee-wee’s radio set, and when our hero succeeded in catching the voice again, the announcer was concluding his thrilling appeal to listeners—in New Jersey. “The car was a Hunkajunk six touring car thought to be occupied by gypsies, the license number is 642-987 N.Y. but the number may have been obscured to prevent identification. Any information concerning this car should be telephoned at once to the police authorities where the car was seen. This is station O.U.J., New York City. Please stand by for continuation of our regular program.”
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE SHORT CUT
But Pee-wee did not “stand by” for continuation of the regular program. The Jamboree Jazz Band had no more charms for him.
He had heard and read of startling announcements being made over the radio, of interruptions in deference to appalling S.O.S. calls, of appeals for cooperation and assistance from the constituted authorities here and there. But never in his wildest dreams (and his dreams were the wildest) had he, Walter Harris, ever been asked, directly and indirectly to cooperate in the apprehension of a fugitive criminal. He felt now that in a way he had been appointed a member of the great metropolitan police force and that a terrible responsibility had been placed upon him.