What did it mean? To Johnny the whole affair was but a confusion of sensations, a mild affair of the night.
Before his question could be answered the words came again. “Squads 21 and 24 go at once to Jackson and Ashland; a drug store. Robbers breaking in there.”
Then, in strange incongruity, there came again the wild, fantastic rhythm of a modern dance tune.
“That,” said the strange host in a quiet tone, “is a squad call. It’s a thing the police have taken up. They hope to check crime that way. Forty-six squad cars are waiting for the calls. Two cars are at Jackson and Ashland now. It’s a new stunt.”
“I should say it was,” said Johnny as he began to understand that the sound of the gong as well as spoken words had come from the radio. Once more he settled back against his pillow.
As he lay there now he kept his eyes on the profile of his host. Dimly lighted as the room was, Johnny seemed to read on the face of the man a look of alert expectancy which had nothing to do with jazz music.
“He is listening,” he told himself. “Waiting for another squad call.”
At once questions formed themselves in his mind. Why did this young man listen so intently? Where lay his sympathies? With the police, or with the law breaker? If with the law breaker, was he interested in some dark doings of this night? Was he listening for the call that would tell of the discovery of his band?
“Strong body. Clear eyes. Keeps himself fit. Wonder if law breakers are like that. Be interesting study. Have to—”
In the midst of his speculations he fell asleep.