"Why," said Joe, "you might buy a car."
"Not much. The Humming Bird's quite good enough."
"Tell you what," he said after a moment's thought, "just get that cashed for me, will you? Then find out where our old skipper and the engineer live and send them a thousand apiece. After that pocket a thousand for yourself. Then—then—Oh, well, hire me a safety deposit box and buy me a lot of Liberty bonds. Might want 'em some day.
"And, say, that reminds me," he pointed to a square of vellum which hung on a stretcher in the corner. "Take that over to the big library on the North Side and tell 'em it's a present from us. It's that map Vincent Ardmore gave me. It's worth a thousand dollars, but such maps are not safe outside a library. Tell 'em to put it on ice," he laughed.
Scarcely had Joe departed than a keen-eyed, gray-haired man entered the tower room. He was Colonel Edward Marshall, Curlie's superior.
"Curlie," he wrinkled his brow, as he took a seat, "there's somebody raising hob with the radio service in Alaska."
Curlie nodded his head. "I thought there might be. Sends on 1200, doesn't he?" He was thinking of the hotel mystery and of the strange girl who had whispered to him so often out of the night.
"Yes, how did you know so much?"
"Part of my job."
"But you've been away."