“Do you think that will answer?”
“It’ll answer fine—if she’s not suspicions.”
“She won’t be suspicious—if Arthur Newman isn’t. This is from Arthur Newman.”
The little detective considered it carefully. “You’re right. It bears the authentic stamp of Arthur. Wondered why you were putting in that bit about the foxy bank man, Landor of Revelstoke. But I see why. Feeling that Newman is the only one to know about him, she’ll be certain this wire’s from him. An’ she’ll stay quiet at Banff accordingly.”
“That’s the idea. You feel confident that your man will send it correctly—as though it really, did come from Newman, I mean?”
“Rely on him. Walt, we’re ready if you are.”
The superintendent had been busy in the saloon with the young man who acted as his clerk. On the saloon table a telegraph instrument had been set up, and the young man was active with what looked like a long bamboo fishing pole that had electric flex instead of fishing line attached to it, as well as a curious hook at its top end. Walt gave orders to the youth to stop the train.
In a minute the long train groaned to a standstill, and at once the young man dropped from the observation platform at the rear of the car, and, first hooking the bamboo rod over one of the telegraph wires beside the track, did various things with electric plugs. Then he came back to the saloon and began working the telegraph instrument. “Through to Sicamous,” he said.
Gatineau pushed the slip forward, “There’s your message.”