■ 1 THE WIRE DEVILS FRANK L. PACKARD The Wire Devils By FRANK L. PACKARD AUTHOR OF "Greater Love Hath No Man," "The Adventure of Jimmie Dale," etc. A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York Published by arrangement with George H. Do ran Company COPYRIGHT. 1918, WT GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ''. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAG1 I The Secret Code 9 II The Ten-Dollar Counterfeit Note . 20 HI The Paymaster's Safe 29 IV At Bald Creek Station 56 V In Which a Cash Box Disappears . . 75 VI Some of the Little Spiders .... 88 VII Wanted—The Hawk—Dead or Alive . 105 VIII Threads in the Web 115 IX The Looting of the Fast Mail . . . 129 X The Third Party 143 XI The Lead Capsule 155 XII Blindman's-Buff 172 XIII The Man with the Scar 187 XIV The Clue 208 XV The Ladybird 220 XVI An Even Break 237 XVII A Hole in the Wall 262 XVIII The Hawk Packs His Valise .... 284 XIX Birds of a Feather 295 XX "Confidential" Correspondence . . 314 T THE WIRE DEVILS The IVire Devils —i— THE SECRET CODE TWO switch lights twinkled; one at the east, and one at the west end of the siding. For the rest all was blackness. Half way between the switch lights, snuggled close against the single-tracked main line, the station, little more than a shanty and too insignificant to boast a night operator, loomed up shadowy and indistinct. Away to the westward, like jagged points sticking up into the night and standing out in relief against the skyline, the Rockies reared their peaks. And the spell of the brooding mountains seemed to lie over all the desolate, butte-broken surrounding country—for all was utter silence. And then there came a sound, low at first, like a strange muttering from somewhere to the westward. 9 10 THE WIRE DEVILS It died away, grew louder, was hushed again—and broke into a sustained roar. Came then the quick, short gasps of the exhaust—it was a freight, and a heavy one. And suddenly, from up the track, cir- cling an intervening butte, an electric headlight cut streaming through the black. It touched the little station in a queerly inquisitive way in the sweep of its arc, lingered an instant over the platform, then swung to the right of way, and held there, the metals glistening like polished silver ribbons under the flood of light. Straining, panting at its load, reddening the sky as the fire-box door was flung open, the big ten- wheeler stormed by, coughing the sparks heaven- ward from its stack. The roar in the still night grew deafening, as boxcar, flat and gondola, lurching, swaying, clanking, groaning, an endless string, tug- ging at one another, grinding their flanges, screaming as they took up the axle play, staggered with a din infernal past the lonely and unlighted station. The roar sank into a gradually diminishing mur- mur. The tail-lights winked like mischievous little red eyes in the distance—and vanished. All was stillness and that brooding silence again. And then a man's form, like a black shadow in the darkness, rose from the trackside, and crept to the platform, and along the platform to the station door. The man bent forward, and the round, white ray of a pocket flashlight played upon the lock. He ex- amined the lock for an instant appraisingly, then drew a bunch of skeleton keys from his pocket, and, THE SECRET CODE 11 selecting one of the number without hesitation, un- locked the door, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. The flashlight swept in a circle around the inter- ior of the little station. There were but two rooms— the small waiting room which he had entered, and in which he now stood; and, partitioned off from this, the door open, a still smaller inner room, the agent's office. He moved at once into the latter, and his flashlight, swiftly now, searched around the walls and held upon the clock. It was six minutes to ten. "Pretty close work!" muttered the man. "Six minutes to wait." The ray travelled now over the operator's table, and from the table to the switchboard. He reached out, "cut in" the office circuit, listened for an instant as the sounder began to chatter—then the ray swept over the table again. Under a newspaper, that the day man had apparently flung down at haphazard on leaving the office, he found a pad of telegraph blanks, from which, evidently wary of the consequences of using a pad with its resultant tell-tale impressions on the under sheets, he tore off a sheet and laid it down ready to hand before him. This done, he nodded complacently, sat down in the operator's chair, tilted the chair back, put his feet up on the table, and coolly picked up the news- paper. It was the evening edition of the Selkirk City Journal, that had presumably been tossed off at the station by a charitable train crew of some late after- noon train out from the city. He held the paper in s THE WIRE DEVILS one hand, the flashlight in the other, scanned the page, which happened to be an inner one, cursorily, turned it over, and suddenly leaned forward a little in his seat. He was staring at the headline at the top right-hand corner of the front page. NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL RELEASED FROM SING SING POLICE ARE WARNED THAT MAN MAY BE IN THIS VICINITY HARRY MAUL, ALIAS THE HAWK, KNOWN TO BE IN THE WEST The telegraph sounder chattered volubly for an instant, as though to challenge and silence the rau* cous ticking of the clock, and ended in a splutter of wrath, as it were, at the futility of its attempt. The clock ticked on. There was no other sound. And then the man spoke aloud. "That's me," he said. "The Hawk." The paper rattled in his hand. There was a twisted smile on his lips in the darkness. "I guess I'm pretty well known." The Hawk's eyes fixed on the text, and he began to read: "It is reported that Harry Maul, better known to the police as the Hawk, safe-breaker, forger and thief, one of the cleverest 'gentle- man' crooks in the country, who is at large again THE SECRET CODE 18 after a five-years' penitentiary term, is some- where Ki the West. "The crime wave that has recently been sweeping over Selkirk City and its vicinity, and particularly the daring and, in too many cases, successful outrages with which the railroad of- ficials and detectives have been called upon to cope of late, may, as a very plausible theory, have lured the Hawk here as to a promising field in which to resume his criminal operations. Certain it is that, while we have been the victims of a band of mysterious desperadoes for some time past, the last week or so has seen a very marked increase in the number of crimes that have been committed—a significant coincidence with the Hawk's release from Sing Sing. "A twenty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace was stolen from a private car two nights ago; there was an express car robbery on Monday of this week; and a sleeping car was thoroughly and systematically looted the night before. True, it is mere conjecture to connect the Hawk with these in any way, since the gang that has been operating in this neighbourhood has proved itself quite capable of all and more than this without any outside and highly specialised assistance, and it would appear is in no whit in- ferior in resource and devilish ingenuity to the best, or worst, that Sing Sing has to offer in the shape of this so-called Hawk; but, out of con- jecture, one question naturally suggests itself. 14 THE WIRE DEVILS Granting the presence of the Hawk, is he here as a rival of the criminals of whose existence we are already only too well aware, or is he one of them through old-time associations before Sing Sing put a temporary check upon his ac- tivities?" There was more—a virulent outpouring of wrath at the intolerable extent to which the community, its life and property, was being endangered, and a prom- ise of summary vengeance upon the criminals if caught. "Quite so!" murmured the Hawk, lowering his feet slowly to the floor. "I guess it wouldn't be healthy to get caught around these parts. I have a feeling that it would be the nearest telegraph pole instead of a trial!" He tossed the newspaper back on the table. The sounder, spasmodic in its chatter, for the moment was still. All was silence, profound, absolute. Then the clock struck, loud, resonant, smashing through the silence, startling. And at the same instant the sounder broke into a quick tattoo. The Hawk snatched a pencil from his pocket, and jerked his body forward—then relaxed again. "Stray stuff," he muttered. "Got in ahead of him. We'll get it in a minute now." Pencil poised in his hand, the flashlight playing on the blank sheet of paper before him, the Hawk waited. The sounder ceased—and almost instantly broke again, rattling sharply through the room. The THE SECRET CODE IS Hawk nodded, as his pencil began to travel across the paper. "'mtlky'—stroke at five. Two-three-one to- night," he said aloud. Without pause, without hesitation, without the slightest indication of spacing to break its continu- ity, the sounder rattled on—and finally, as abruptly as it had begun, it stopped. On the sheet of paper the Hawk had written this: mtlkyeqodktrpcvkqlmtpkpwrtrgtftuqcyqtnttsghv ukopgfkxtikukqprelcnrcatocuvgdatfgumttlvgpvjf qwucpmt f kpuckj ihgvqptki j vr sa wvpxo dttdgtqprg qplqosd He reached out for the pad, tore off another sheet, and in two parallel columns set down the letters of the alphabet, one column transposed. There was a faint smile on his lips, as he turned again to the ci- pher and began to write in another line of letters under the original message. "I wonder what Poe and his predominant 'e' would do with this!" he chuckled. "'Combi'—stroke two. Key letter—stroke three." He frowned the next in- stant. "What's thisl Ah—stroke three, instead of one." He completed the transposition, stared at the several lines which were now scattered with ver- tically crossed-out letters, whistled low under his breath, and a grim look settled on his face. The message now read: 16 THE WIRE DEVILS dcdiv^sion^^alpayymaste^irdesk^tcnth/ousan 0ydinsay^etoD^ghtp^Dtnum^yberoa^eoDjo^b Mechanically, he separated words and sentences, and, eliminating the superfluous letters, wrote out the translation at the bottom of the sheet: "Combination in upper drawer left side divi- sional paymaster ('s) desk. Ten thousand in safe to-night. Put Number One on job." The Hawk stood up, "plugged out" the station cir- cuit, and, gathering up the two sheets of paper he had used, put them in his pocket; then, leaving the door of the operator's room open behind him, as he had found it, he stepped out from the station to the platform, and, with his skeleton key, relocked the station door. He stood for a moment staring up and down the track. The switchlights blinked back at him confidentially. He listened. The eastbound freight, from which he had jumped some twenty minutes before, would cross Extra No. 83, the west- bound way freight, at Elkton, seven miles away, but there was no sound of the latter as yet. He turned then, and, jumping from the platform to the track, swung into a dog-trot along the road- bed. The Hawk smiled contentedly to himself. It was all timed to a nicety! A mile or so to the west, the right of way rose in a stiff grade that the way freight would be able to negotiate at no better speed THE SECRET CODE 17 1 r than the pace at which a man could crawl. He could make the distance readily, board her there, and the way freight would get him to Selkirk—and the di- visional paymaster's office!—by about midnight. He ran on, the swing and ease of a trained athlete in his stride. And, as he ran, he took the sheets of paper from his pocket, and, tearing them into small fragments, scattered the pieces at intervals here and there. He reached the foot of the grade, and paused to look back along the track, as suddenly from behind him came the hoarse scream of an engine whistle. That was the way freight now, whistling perfunc- torily for the deserted station! He had made the grade in plenty of time, though the nearer to the top he could get the better, for the freight, requiring all the initial impetus it could attain, would hit the foot of the grade wide open. The Hawk broke into a run again, glancing con- stantly back over his shoulder as he sped on up the grade. And then, when he was well on toward the summit, opening the night like a blazing disk as it rounded a curve, he caught the gleam of the head- light. It grew larger and larger, until, beginning to fling a luminous pathway up the track that, gradu- ally lengthening, crept nearer and nearer to him, he swerved suddenly, plunged down the embankment, and, well away from the trackside, dropped flat upon the ground. The engine, slowed, was grunting heavily on the incline as it strained by the spot where he lay; there 18 THE WIRE DEVILS was the glimmer of the front-end brakeman's lamp from the top of one of the forward cars—and, with a quick, appraising glance to measure the length of the train, the Hawk, on hands and knees, crawled forward, and up the embankment, and, in the shadow of the rolling cars themselves, stood up. There would be sharp eyes watching from the cupola of the caboose. He laughed a little. And not only the train crew there, perhaps! The railroad detectives, at their wits' ends, had acquired the habit of late of turning up in the most unexpected places! A boxcar rolled by him, another, and still another —but the Hawk's eyes were fixed a little further along toward the rear on an open space, where, in the darkness, a flat car gave the appearance of a break in the train. The flat car came abreast of him. He caught the iron foot-rung, jumped, and, with a pow- erful, muscular swing, flung himself aboard. The car was loaded with some kind of carriage, or wagon, tarpaulin-covered. The Hawk crawled in under the tarpaulin, and lay down upon his back, pil- lowing his head on a piece of timber that blocked the carriage wheels. The train topped the grade, gained speed, and roared on through the night. Occasionally, during what was close to a two-hours' run, it stopped at in- termediate stations, and the Hawk peered furtively out from under the tarpaulin to locate the surround- ings, with which he appeared to be intimately famil- iar; and once, nearing the end of the run, as the faint-suffused glow from the city's lights in the dis- THE TEN-DOLLAR COUNTERFEIT NOTE THE Hawk crawled out from under the tar- paulin and dropped to the ground, as the freight, slowing down, began to patter in over the spur switches of the Selkirk yard. He darted, bent low, across several spurs to escape the possibility of observation from the freight's ca- boose ; then began to make his way toward the round- house ahead of him. He would have to pass around behind the roundhouse in order to get up opposite the station and the divisional offices. The Hawk glanced sharply about him as he moved along. He dodged here and there like some queer, irresponsible phantom flitting amongst the low, myriad red, green and purple lights that dotted the yard; and he care- fully avoided those other lights, the white lights of the yardsmen, now bobbing as the men ran up and down, now swinging from the footboard of a pass- ing switcher, that seemed to be unusually ubiquitous —for the Hawk was secretive, and for certain good and valid reasons was possessed of an earnest de- sire that no stranger should be reported prowling around the railroad yard that night. He reached the roundhouse, stepped close up 20 THE TEN-DOLLAR COUNTERFEIT NOTE 21 against the wall to take advantage of the security afforded by the shadows, and began to circle the building. The Hawk was treading silently now. Halfway around the building he halted abruptly, his head cocked suddenly in a listening attitude toward a small, open and lighted window on a level with his shoulders, and in order to pass which he had just been on the point of stooping down. "I think," said the Hawk softly to himself, "I think this sounds as though it interested me." He crept cautiously forward, and from the edge of the window glanced inside. It was the turner's "cubbyhole," or office. The door was closed, and two men were standing there, talking earnestly. The Hawk's face, dimly outlined now in the window light, smooth-shaven, square-jawed, the eyes and forehead hidden by the brim of the slouch hat that was pulled forward almost to the bridge of his nose, set with a curious and significant smile. It was not a bad place for a private conference! He had thought he had recognised the voice—and he had not been mis- taken. The big, heavy-built, thin-lipped, pugnacious- faced man was MacVightie, the head of the railroad's detective force; the other, a smaller man, with alert grey eyes, his forehead furrowed anxiously, whose clenched hand rested on the table, was Lanson, the division superintendent. "I don't know, damn it, MacVightie !" Lanson was saying savagely. "I don't know what to think, or believe—I- only know that a Pullman hold-up one eight, a twenty-thousand-dollar necklace stolen the 22 THE WIRE DEVILS next, an express car looted, and several other little pleasant episodes all jammed one on top of the other, means hell to pay out here and nothing to pay it with, unless we can do something almighty quick!" "Any more of those messages?" inquired Mac- Vightie—there was an ominous abstraction in his tones. "Yes—to-night." "Make anything of it?" "No," said Lanson; "and I think it's about time to put a kink in that little business, whether they mean anything or not. This cat-and-mouse game we've been playing isn't" "We'll get back to that in a minute," interrupted MacVightie quietly. "Here's a little something else that may possibly fit into the combination." He reached into his pocket, took out his pocketbook, opened it, and handed the division superintendent a crisp new ten-dollar note. The Hawk's lips thinned instantly, and he swore sharply under his breath. "What's this?" asked Lanson, in surprise. "Phony!" said MacVightie laconically. "Counterfeit!" Lanson turned the note over in his hands, staring at first one side and then the other. "Are you sure? I'd take it any time." "You'd have lots of company with you"—there was a sudden rasp in the detective's voice. "Pretty good one, isn't it? The East is being flooded with them. Two of them showed up in the banks here in the city yesterday, and one to-day." THE TEN-DOLLAR COUNTERFEIT NOTE 28 Lanson frowned perplexedly. "I don't get you, MacVightie," he said. "Suppose they were being struck off around here," suggested MacVightie curtly. "I don't say they are, but suppose it were so. They'd likely be shoved out as far away from this locality as possible, wouldn't they—back East, say. They're so good that a jag of them got by before they began to be detected— and now suppose we assume that they're beginning to sift back around the country." "Well?" "Well"—MacVightie caught the superintendent up quickly—"I didn't say I could prove it; but, coupled with the fact that I happen to know that the police have traced the work back to somewhere west of Chicago, I've got a hunch that the gang that is operating around here and the crowd that is turning out the phony money is the same outfit. The Lord knows"—he smiled bitterly—"they're clever enough! And to go back to those messages now. If there was anything in them at all, anything more than some irresponsible idiot tampering with a key somewhere, we were face to face, not with a mere gang of train robbers, but with an organised criminal league as dangerous and powerful as has ever existed in this country—and that's what made me hesitate. We couldn't afford to take any chances, to start out after a mare's nest, and we had to make as nearly sure of our ground as possible before we played a card. We went on the principle that if it was only somebody playing the goat, he'd get tired of it before long if 24 THE WIRE DEVILS no one paid any attention to him; if it meant any- thing more than that, he'd keep on." MacVightie's pugnacious face screwed up into a savage grimace. "Well, maybe this counterfeiting idea has had some- thing to do with deciding me, but, anyway, I'm satis- fied now. He has kept on. And I'm satisfied now that those messages are a cipher code that the gang is using, and that our cat-and-mouse play, as you call it, instead of being abortive, is exactly what's going to land our men for us. That's one thing I came to tell you to-night—that I'm ready now to take the gloves off on this wire game." Lanson smashed his fist down on the table top. "Good!" he exclaimed grimly. "I'd like to make things hot for somebody, and it'll at least be easy enough to catch whoever is using the wire." MacVightie shook his head. "Oh, no; it won't!" he said evenly. "I didn't mean to give you that impression, and don't you make the mistake of under-estimating the brains we're up against, Lanson. I'm no expert on telegraphy, that's your end of it, but I know they wouldn't sit in on any game where they didn't hold trumps up their sleeves. Get me? Now let's see what it looks like. As I understand it, these messages, no matter from what point on the division they are sent, would be heard on every sounder on the line—that's right, isn't it?" "Yes—sure! Of course!" agreed Lanson. "And it might be an operator working with them THE TEN-DOLLAR COUNTERFEIT NOTE 25 as an inside man; or, with the necessary outfit, the wire could be tapped at any point, couldn't it?" "Yes," said Lanson; "but the minute he starts in, we could begin to 'ground' him out." "Go on!" invited MacVightie. "I'm listening." "We could tell whether he was working east or west of any given point," explained the superinten- dent; "and, with the operators instructed before- hand, practically narrow him down to, say, between two stations." The Hawk, as he, too, listened, permitted an amused smile to flicker across his lips. "Urn!" said MacVightie. "And would he be aware that this 'grounding' process was going on?" "Yes—naturally," admitted Lanson. "We can't prevent that." MacVightie shook his head again. "That doesn't sound good to me," he said slowly. "All he'd have to do would be to beat it then—and the next time start in fifty miles away, and you'd have to begin all over again. And, besides, who's receiv- ing the messages? You can't put any tabs on that. Every sounder from Selkirk City to Rainy River registers them, and all a man's got to do is listen. You see, Lanson, it's not so easy—eh?" Lanson frowned. "Well, what do you suggest?" he asked uncom- fortably. "We can stop it." "But we don't want to stop it!" returned Mac- Vightie. "We could have done that from the first. What we want is our man now. And it strikes me THE WIRE DEVILS that the first thing to do is to find out whether one of our own operators is in on this or not. Unless the line is tapped somewhere, it's a cinch that a sta- tion key is being used, isn't it? Send some linemen that you can trust over the division. If they find any- thing at all, they'll find the spot where the messages are coming from, won't they? If they find nothing, we'll know we've got to look nearer home—amongst our own men." Lanson, in his turn, shook his head. "Not necessarily," he objected. "We've a num- ber of small stations where there's no night operator. They might have got into one of those. The mes- sages all come through at night." "Well, I'll call the turn there!" responded Mac- Vightie, with a short laugh. "See that I get a list of those stations in the morning, and I'll detail men to take care of that end of it." The Hawk drew back a little, shifting his strained position—the amused smile was no longer on his lips. "And as for that 'ground' business," went on Mac- Vightie, "go slow with it till you get your linemen's report. Don't do any more than try it out with some operator you can absolutely depend upon, say, about halfway down the line. You say you would be able to tell whether the messages were coming from east or west of that point; that'll cut the division in half for us as far as our search is concerned, and that's worth taking a chance on. But don't overdo it, Lanson. We don't want to throw any scare into him—yet." THE TEN-DOLLAR COUNTERFEIT NOTE 27 "All right," agreed Lanson. "I'll start things moving to-night. Martin, at Bald Creek, will be the best man, I guess. I'll send a letter down to him on No. 8." "And warn him to make no reports by wire," cau- tioned MacVightie. "All right—yes, naturally," agreed the superin- tendent again. Then, after a short pause, anxious- ly: "Anything turned up at all, MacVightie? Any clue to that necklace? The governor's wife is mak- ing a holler that's reached from here to the road's directors down in Wall Street." "Damn it," growled MacVightie. "I'm well enough aware of it—but the necklace isn't any more important than any one of the other affairs, is it? No; there's nothing—not a blamed thing!" "Well, what about this Sing Sing convict, the Hawk, that the papers are featuring to-night?" Lanson asked. "Anything in that?" "I don't know—maybe," McVightie answered vi- ciously. "He's only one more, anyway. This gang was operating before he was released—and it's likely enough, if they're old pals of his, that he's come out here to give them a hand. The New York police say he went to Chicago immediately after his release, two weeks ago. The Chicago police reported him there, and then he disappeared; then Denver spotted him a few days later—and that's the last that's been seen of him. You can make what you like of that. He's certainly been hitting a pretty straight trail west. He wasn't stopped, of course, because he isn't 28 THE WIRE DEVILS 'wanted' at present; he's only a man with a "bad rec- ord, and labelled dangerous. We were warned to look out for him, that's all." "Got his description?" inquired Lanson. "Yes"—MacVightie's laugh was a short bark. "Medium height, broad-shouldered, muscular, black hair, black eyes, straight nose, good-looking, and gentlemanly in appearance and manner, dresses well, age twenty-four to twenty-six, no distinctive marks or disfigurement." "There's probably not more than twenty-five thou- sand men in Selkirk City who would answer to every detail of that!" Lanson commented sarcastically. "Exactly!" admitted MacVightie. "And that's" The Hawk was creeping forward again in the shadows of the roundhouse. "Yes, I guess it interested me," muttered the Hawk; "I guess it did. I guess I'm playing in luck to-night." —Ill — THE PAYMASTER'S SAFE FROM the roundhouse it was only a few yards to the rear of the long, low-lying freight sheds and, unobserved, the Hawk gained this new shelter. He stole quickly along to the further end of the sheds; and there, crouched down again in the shadows, halted to make a critical survey of his surroundings. Just in front of him, divided only by a sort of driveway for the convenience of the teamsters, was the end wall of the station, and, in the end wall— the window of the divisional paymaster's office. The Hawk glanced to his left. The street upon which the station fronted, an ill-savoured section of the city, was dark, dimly lighted, and deserted; the only sign of life being the lighted windows of a saloon o*. me corner of a narrow lane that bisected the block of somewhat disreputable, tumble-down wooden struc- tures that faced the station. To his right, on the other side of the freight shed, the railroad yard had narrowed down to the station tracks and a single spur alongside the shed. There was no one in sight in either direction. The Hawk's eyes strayed back to the paymaster's 20 30 THE WIRE DEVILS window. The station, like its surrounding neigh- bours, was an old wooden building; and, being low and only two-storied, the second-story window of- fered inviting possibilities. From the sill of the lower window, a man who was at all agile had the upper window at his mercy. Against this mode of attack, however, was the risk of being seen by any one who might pass along the street, or by any one who might chance upon the end of the station platform. "What's the use!" decided the Hawk, with an abrupt shrug of his shoulders. "Play safe. There's a better way." The Hawk crept across the driveway, reached the street side of the station, peered cautiously around the corner of the building, and, satisfied that he was unobserved, edged down along the building for a short distance, paused in a doorway, glanced quickly about him again—and then the door opened and closed, and he was standing in a murky passageway, that was lighted only by a single incandescent far back by a stair well. He stood motionless, listening. From above, through the stillness, came the faint drumming of a telegraph key. There should be no one upstairs now but the dispatcher, whose room was at the opposite end of the building from the paymaster's office— and, possibly, with the dispatcher, a call boy or two. And the hallway above, he could see, was dark. Moving stealthily forward, as noiseless as a cat in his tread, the Hawk took a mask from his pocket, slipped it over his face, and began to mount the THE WIRE DEVILS softly opened it the space of an inch. He listened attentively. There was no sound. He pushed the door open, switched on his flashlight again, and stepped through the doorway. It appeared to be a clerks' office—for the paymaster's staff, presumably. The Hawk seemed to possess a peculiar penchant for doors. The only thing in the room that apparently held any interest for him now was the door that opened, like the paymaster's, upon the corridor. He slipped quickly across the room, and, as before, examined the lock. Like the other, it was a spring lock; and, like the other, he tested it to make sure it was locked on the outside. "Ten thousand dollars," confided the Hawk to the lock, "isn't to be picked up every night; and we can't afford to take any chances, you know." He began to retrace his steps toward the paymas- ter's office, but now, obviously, with more attention to the details of his surroundings, for his flashlight kept dancing quick, jerky flashes in all directions about him. "Ah!" The exclamation, low-breathed, came sud- denly. "I thought there ought to be something like this around here!" From beside a desk, he stooped and picked up an empty pay satchel; then, returning at once to the' other office, but leaving the connecting door just ajar, he dropped the pay bag in front of the safe, and went silently over to the desk—a mouse run- ning across the floor would have made more com- 84 THE WIRE DEVILS the pay bag. Ten thousand dollars was not so bulky, after all—if the denominations of the notes were large enough. He riffled one package through his fingers—twenties! Gold, yellow-back twenties! There was a sort of beatific smile on the Hawk's lips. He dropped the package into the bag. Tens, and twenties, and fives—the light, in a curi- ously caressing way, was lingering on the little for- tune as it lay there on the bottom of the safe. There was only a pile or two of ones, and the rest was— what was that! The smile vanished from the Hawk's lips, and, in a rigid, tense, strained attitude, he hung there, mo- tionless. What was that—that dull, rasping, sound! It was like some one clawing at the wall outside. The window/ With a single motion, as though stirred to life by some galvanic shock, the Hawk's hand shot out and swept the packages of banknotes into the bag. He snapped off his flashlight. The room was in dark- ness. That sound again! And now a creak! The win- dow was being opened. Something black was bulk- ing there on the sill outside—and something queerly white, a man's face, was pressed against the pane, peering in. The Hawk glanced sharply around him. Inch by inch he was pushing the safe door shut. He could not reach the door leading to the clerks' office, for he would have to pass by the window, and—he shrank back quickly, the safe door closed but still un- THE PAYMASTER'S SAFE locked, and crouched low in the corner against the wall. The window slid up to the top, and with a soft pad, like some animal alighting on the floor, the man had sprung into the room. The Hawk's fingers crept into his pocket and out again, tight-closed now upon an automatic pistol. The other's flashlight winked, went out, then shot across the room, locating the desk—and once more all was darkness. There was not a sound now, save the short, hur- ried breathing of the other, panting from the exertion of his climb. Then the man's step squeaked faintly crossing the room—and the Hawk, a few inches at a time, began to edge along the wall away from the neighbourhood of the safe. Then the man's flashlight gleamed again, light- ing up the top of the desk. There was a sharp, rip- ping sound, as of the tearing of wood under pres- sure, and the upper drawer, forced open by a steel jimmy, was pulled out. "Birds of a feather!" said the Hawk grimly to himself. "Number One, of the Wire Devils! I didn't beat him to it by as much margin as I thought I would!" The Hawk shifted his automatic to the hand that was clutching the pay bag, and, with the other hand, began to feel in wide sweeps over the wall above his head. The electric-light switch, he had noticed in that first quick glance when he had entered the room, a glance that had seemed to notice nothing, and yet 86 THE WIRE DEVILS in which nothing had escaped the sharp, trained eyes, was somewhere about here. "Dangerous—for both of us—if it's seen out- side," communed the Hawk with himself again. "But when he finds the safe unlocked, and the goods gone, there'll be trouble. If he gets a flashlight on me, he's got me where he wants me. Ah—here it is!" The Hawk's fingers touched the switch. He lowered the pay bag cautiously to the floor between his feet, his automatic free in his hand again. There was a rustling of papers in the drawer; then the man's hand, holding a card, was outlined as though thrown upon a screen, as, with his other hand, he focused his flashlight upon it. Then the flashlight swung an arc over the opposite wall, and pointed a pathway to the safe, as the man turned abruptly and stepped back across the room. The Hawk, one hand raised to the switch on the wall, his automatic outflung a little in the other, tense, like an animal in leash, watched the other's move- ments. The dark-outlined form was in shadowy relief against the light, that played now upon the glistening knob and dial of the safe. The man gave a prelimi- nary, tentative twist at the handle. Came a quick, dismayed, hissing sound, like the sharp intake of breath. The safe door was wrenched open with a jerk. There was a low, angry cry now. The man sprang back, and as though involuntarily, in a sort of uncertain, panic-struck search, his flashlight shot along the wall—and fell full upon the Hawk. THE PAYMASTER'S SAFE 37 The Hawk's finger pressed the switch. The room was ablaze with light. With a startled, furious oath, the man's hand was sweeping significantly toward his pocket. "No, you don't!" snarled the Hawk, covering the other. "No, you don't! Cut that out!" His eyes, behind the mask, narrowed suddenly. "Hello!" he sneered. "It's 'Butcher' Rose—I might have known from the way you opened that drawer!" It was a moment before the man answered. "Blast you!" he whispered finally. "You gave me a bit of a start, you did! I thought at first you were a 'bull'!" His eyes fastened on the pay bag at the Hawk's feet. The top gaped open, disclosing the banknotes inside. The man raised his eyes to the Hawk's, and a cunning look came over his thin, hatchet-like face. "Caught with the goods this time, eh?" he jerked out. The Hawk smiled unpleasantly. "Yes," he said. "The nest's empty. What is it they used to tell us in the nursery?—it's the early bird that grabs the worm. How long you been out in these parts, Butcher?" "Look here," said the Butcher ingratiatingly, ig- noring the question, "I guess it's a case of split— eh?" "You've got a nerve!" ejaculated the Hawk coolly, "Well, put that light out, then, and we'll talk it over," suggested the Butcher. "If it's seen from outside, we'll both get caught." "I'd rather take a chance on that, than a chance S8 THE WIRE DEVILS on you," replied the Hawk curtly. "There's noth- ing to talk over. I've got the coin, and you've got a frost—all you've got to do now is beat it." Sharp, little, black, ferret eyes the Butcher had, and they roamed around the room now in an ap- parently aimless fashion—only to come back and fix hungrily on the bag of banknotes again. A sul- len look came into his face, and the jaw muscles twitched ominously. "So you're the Hawk they're talking about, eh?" he said, trying to speak smoothly. "Well, there's no use of us quarrelling. If you know me, we must be old pals. Take off that mask, and let's have a look at you. There ain't any reason why we can't be pals again." "Nix!" said the Hawk softly. "Nothing doing, Butcher! It suits me pretty well the way it is. I've made it a rule all my life to play a lone hand, and the more I see of the raw work that guys like you try to get away with, the more I pat myself on the back. Savvy? Why, say, even a drag-worker on Canal Street wouldn't show his face to a self-respect- ing crook for a month, he'd be so ashamed, if he took a crowbar to a desk drawer the way you did, you poor boob!" The Butcher's face flushed, and he scowled. "You're looking for trouble, ain't you!" he said hoarsely. "Well, mabbe you'll get it—and mabbe you'll get more than you're looking for. How'd you get wise to this game to-night?" "It's the way I make my living—getting wise. THE PAYMASTER'S SAFE 39 -' How'd you suppose?" queried the Hawk insolently. The Butcher was chewing at his lips angrily; his eyes, closed to slits, searched the Hawk's masked face. "This is the second time!" he said, between his teeth. "You pinched that necklace, and" "O-ho!" exclaimed the Hawk, with a grin. "So you were after that, too, were you?" The Butcher's flush deepened. "That's none of your damned business!" he grit- ted. "And if I thought "He bit his lips quickly. "Go on!" invited the Hawk sweetly. "Don't mind me. If you thought—what?" "You've had the luck with you," mumbled the Butcher, half to himself. "It can't be anything else, there's no chance of a leak. But I'm going to tell you something—your luck's going to get a hole kicked in it. I'll tell you something more. There's a few of us that have picked out this little stamping ground for ourselves, and we ain't fond of trespass- ers. Get that? It ain't going to be healthy for you to linger around here over more than one train!" "Are the rest of 'em all like you?" inquired the Hawk maliciously. "You'll find out quicker than you'll want to, per- haps!" the Butcher retorted furiously. "All right!" said the Hawk. "And now I'll tell you a little something. I don't know who are in this gang of yours, but you might take them a little mes- sage from me. If they're finding it crowded out here, they'd better move on to somewhere where compe- 40 THE WIRE DEVILS tition isn't so likely to put them out of business through lack of brains, because I'm kind of figuring cm hanging around until it gets time to open my chateau down at Palm Beach and stick my feet up on the sofa for a well-earned rest. Do you stumble to that? And"—the Hawk was drawling now—"I might say, Butcher, that I don't like you. My fin- gers are crossed on that trespassing gag. It don't go! I don't scare for any half-baked outfit of near- crooks! I stick here as long as there's anything worth sticking for." The Butcher's eyes seemed to be fascinated by the pay bag—they were on it again. He choked a little, swallowing hard; and, attempting a change of front, forced a smile. "Well, don't get sore!" he said, in a whining tone. "Mabbe I was only trying to chuck a bluff, and got called. But, say, how'd you like to break in here to-night like I did, and find another fellow'd got all the swag? Say, it's damned rough, ain't it? Say, it's fierce! And, look here, I'm in on it now, any- how. I know who took it. I'm going to keep my mouth shut, ain't I? You ain't going to leave me out in the cold, are you? All I ask is a split." "It's not much!" said the Hawk, in a velvet voice. "It hardly seems enough. You're too modest, Butch- er. Why don't you ask for the whole of it? You might as well—you'd stand just as much chance of getting it!" The smile faded from the Butcher's lips, and his face became contorted with rage again. He raised THE PAYMASTER'S SAFE 41 his fist and shook it at the Hawk. He cursed in abandon, his lips livid, beside himself with passion. "You'll get yours for this!" He choked, in his fury, over his words. "You think you're slick! I'll show you what you're up against inside of twenty- four hours! You'll crawl for this, d'ye hear, blast you—you'll crawl!—you'll" The Hawk's automatic, dangling nonchalantly in his hand, swung suddenly upward to a level with the other's eyes. "That's enough, you cheap skate!"—there was a cold, menacing ring in the Hawk's voice now. "IVe heard enough from you. You and your hot-air crowd of moth-eaten lags! If you, or any of you, run foul of me again, you won't get off so easy! Tell 'em that! Tell 'em the Hawk said so! And you beat it! And beat it—now!" He caught up the pay bag, and advanced a step. The Butcher retreated sullenly. "Get out of that window!" ordered the Hawk evenly. "And take a last tip from me. If you try to plant me, if you let a peep out of you while I'm making my own getaway, I'll get you for it, Butcher, if it's the last thing I ever do. Go on, now! Step quicker!" Still sullenly, mumbling, his mouth working, the Butcher retreated backward toward the window. The Hawk, his lips like a thin straight line just show- ing under the mask, followed grimly, step by step. And then, suddenly, both men halted, and their eyes met and held each other's in a long tense gaze. 48 THE WIRE DEVILS From outside in the corridor came the sound of voices and footsteps. The footsteps drew nearer; the voices grew louder. The Hawk shot a glance toward the door. He drew in his breath sharply. No, there was no fanlight, the light would not show in the hall. That was the superintendent's voice. That letter Lanson was going to send down on No. 8! The other, probably, was MacVightie. Yes; it was MacVightie—he caught the detective's gruff * tones now. The door on the opposite side of the corridor from the paymaster's room opened. The Butcher licked his lips. "Me for the window, and for it quick l" he mut- tered under his breath. He turned, and, his back to the Hawk now, tip- toed to the window, turned again sideways, as though to throw one leg over the sill—and his right hand, hidden, suddenly lifted the side of his coat. It came quick, quick as the winking of an eye. Racketing through room and building, like the de- tonation of a cannon in the silence, came the roar of a revolver shot, as the Butcher fired through his coat pocket. Mechanically, the Hawk staggered backward; and then, the quick, keen brain working like lightning, he reeled, dropped the pay bag, and clutched wildly at his side. He was not hit. The Butcher had missed. So that was the man's game I Clever enough! They'd break in here at the sound of the shot, and find him dead or wounded on the floor! The Butcher, a devil's triumph in his face now, THE PAYMASTER'S SAFE 43 came leaping back from the window, and, stooping, snatched at the pay bag. "I'd put another in you to make sure," whispered the Butcher fiercely; "only they'll get you anyway, you" The Hawk straightened, his arm streaked outward from his side, his pistol butt crashed on the Butch- er's skull, and he was upon the other like a flash, his free hand at the Butcher's throat. From the room opposite came startled cries; across the corridor came the rush of feet—then the doorhandle was tried, the door shaken violently. The Butcher was struggling but feebly, making only a pitiful effort to loosen the Hawk's clutch upon his throat, hanging almost limply in the Hawk's arms, half dazed by the blow upon his head. White to the lips with passion, the Hawk whipped his hand into the other's pocket, whipped out the other's re- volver, and flung the man away from him. And then, as the Butcher reeled and lurched backward to the window, and, clawing frantically at the sill, at- tempted to work his way out, the Hawk ran silently back, picked up the pay bag, and, jumping to the window again, caught the Butcher roughly by the collar of the coat. The Butcher, white, haggard-faced with fear, moaned. "For God's sake!" he pleaded piteously. "Let me go! Let me go! For God's sake, let me go— they'll get me!" There was a terrific crash upon the door, as of 44 THE WIRE DEVILS some heavy body hurled against it. The Hawk laughed mirthlessly. "If I let you go, you'd break your neck !"—the Hawk's words were coming through clenched teeth. "Don't worry, Butcher! They'll not get you. I don't want them to get you. I want to get you my- self for this. Some day, Butcher, some day /'// do the getting!" He pushed the Butcher's feet over the sill. "Feel with your toes for the window casing be- neath! Quick!" He leaned out, gripping at the Butcher's collar, lowering the man—his lips were close against the Butcher's ear. "Some day—for this—you yellow cur—you and me, Butcher—re- member—some day!" A crash again upon the door! The Butcher's feet were on the lower sill; but here the man lost his hold, and toppled to the ground. The Hawk glanced backward into the room. The door was yielding now. He looked out of the window again. The Butcher had regained his feet, and was sway- ing against the wall, holding to it, making his way slowly, weakly toward the corner. The Hawk threw one leg over the sill. With a rip and tear, the door smashed inward, sagging from its lower hinge. Came a hoarse yell. MacVightie was plunging through the doorway. Instantly the Hawk, hugging the pay bag, drew back his leg, and dove into the clerk's room through the door which he had left ajar. There would have been no use in letting the Butcher go at all if he led the chase through the window—the man was barely 46 THE WIRE DEVILS passing the saloon that was now closed, darted into the lane. He flung a glance over his shoulder—and his lips set hard. MacVightie, big man though he was, was no mean antagonist in a race. The detective, quicker in initiative, quicker on his feet, had outdistanced both Lanson and the dispatcher, and was already halfway across the street. Again MacVightie fired. On the Hawk ran. If he could reach the next corner—providing there was no one about the street —there was a way, a risky way, but still a way, his best chance of escape. The cheap combination lodg- ing house and saloon, that was just around the cor- ner, was where he had a room. Yes, it was his one chance! He must get to cover somewhere without an instant's delay. With MacVightie firing now, emptying his revolver up the lane, with the yells and shouts growing constantly in volume from farther back toward the station, it was only a question of minutes before the whole neighbourhood would be aroused. Again he glanced behind him. It was very dark in the lane. He was grimly conscious that it was the blackness, and not MacVightie's poor marksman- ship, that had saved him sn far. That flash of the other's revolver was perhaps fifty yards away. He had gained a little, then! If there was any one around the corner, the plan of reaching his room would not serve him, and he would still have to run THE PAYMASTER'S SAFE 47 for it. Well, he would see in an instant—it was only two yards more—a yard—now! Without slackening his pace, at top speed he swung from the lane—and, with a gasp of relief at sight of an empty street, slipped into a doorway just be- yond the now dark entrance to a saloon that oc- cupied most of the ground floor of a dirty and squalid three-story building. The door gave on a narrow flight of stairs, and up these the Hawk sprang swiftly and with scarcely a sound. And now, as he ran, he pulled his mask from his face and thrust it into the pay bag; a pocket- book from his inside coat pocket followed the mask, and, with the pocketbook, the flashlight, and the two pistols, his own and the Butcher's. He opened a door at the head of the landing, and stepped into a room, leaving the door partly open. He was not safe yet—far from it! He did not under-estimate MacVightie. It would be obvious to MacVightie that he was not far enough ahead to have disappeared in any but one way—into some building within a very few yards of the lane! And the presumption, at least, would be that this was the one. The Hawk worked now with almost incredible speed. He switched on the light, ran to the window that opened on the rear of the building, felt with one hand along the sill outside, lifted the pay bag out of the window, let go of it, and turned instantly back into the room. He hung up his hat on a wall peg, and tearing off his jacket, flung it haphazardly upon 48 THE WIRE DEVILS the bed. There was a small table against the wall near the foot of the bed. The Hawk opened a drawer, snatched up a pack of cards, and sat down at the table. The street door opened and closed. A quick, heavy tread sounded on the stairs. In his shirt sleeves, his back to the door, the Hawk was coolly playing solitaire. "I guess I'd better be smoking," murmured the Hawk. "Maybe I'm breathing a little hard." He picked up a pipe from the table, lighted a match—and, half the deck of cards in one hand, the lighted match in the other, swung around in his chair with a startled jerk. The door slammed back against the wall. Mac- Vightie had unceremoniously kicked it wide open. MacVightie was standing on the threshold. The Hawk, in a sort of surprised gasp, sucked the flame of the match down into the bowl of his pipe, and stared at MacVightie through a curtain of to- bacco smoke. The detective's eyes travelled sharply from the Hawk around the room, came back to the Hawk, narrowed, and, stepping into the room, he shut the door with equal lack of ceremony behind him. "Say, you got a gall!" ejaculated the Hawk. "You bet your life I have!" flung out MacVigh- tie. "Now then, my bucko, what are you doing here?" "Say," said the Hawk, as though obsessed with but a single idea, "say, you got a gall! You got a THE PAYMASTER'S SAFE 49 gall, busting into a fellow's room and asking him what he's doing there! Say, maybe you might an- swer the same question yourself—eh? What are you doing here?" "Your room, is it?" snapped MacVightie. "Sure; it's my room!" replied the Hawk, a little tartly. "How long you been here?" "'Bout a week"—the Hawk was growing ungra- cious. "Boarding here?" "Yes." "Where'd you come from?" MacVightie was clipping off his words. "What do you do for a liv- ing?" "Say," said the Hawk politely, "you go to hell!" MacVightie stepped forward toward the Hawk with an ominous scowl; and, throwing back the lapel of his coat, tapped grimly with his forefinger on a. shield that decorated his vest. The Hawk whistled low. "O-ho!" said the Hawk, with sudden cordiality. "Well, why didn't you say so before?" "I'm saying it now!" snarled MacVightie. "Well, where do you come from?" "Chicago," said the Hawk. "What's your business?"—MacVightie's eyes were roving sharply again around the room. "Barkeep—when I can get a job," answered the Hawk; and then, insinuatingly: "And, say, I'm 60 THE WIRE DEVILS looking for one now, and if you can put me on to anything I'd" "I guess you've got to show me!" growled Mac- Vightie, uncompromisingly. "Look here," ventured the Hawk, "what's up?" "I'm waiting!" prompted MacVightie significant- ly. "Oh, all right!" The Hawk flared up a little. "If you love your grouch, keep on hugging it tight!" He jerked his hand toward the coat that was lying on the bed. "I must have lost the letter the pastor of my church gave me, but there's a couple there from the guys back in Chicago that I worked for, and there's my union card with them. Help your- self!" MacVightie picked up the coat brusquely, shoved his hand into the inside pocket, brought out several letters, and began to read them. The Hawk shuffled the half deck of cards in his hand monotonously. There was a puzzled frown on MacVightie's face, as he finally tossed the letters down on the bed. "Satisfied?" inquired the Hawk pleasantly. MacVightie's frown deepened. "Yes, as Tar as that goes," he said tersely; and then, evenly, his eyes boring into the Hawk: "About five minutes ago a man ran into this house from the street. What's become of him?" The Hawk started in amazement—and slowly shook his head. 6* THE WIRE DEVILS MacVightie hesitated. "Well—no," he acknowledged, after a moment. "I guess you're straight all right, and I'll admit I didn't see him come in; but I'd have pretty near taken an oath on it." "Then I guess he must have ducked somewhere else," submitted the Hawk sapiently. "There wasn't no one went by that door—I'm giving it to you on the level." MacVightie's reluctant smile was a wry grimace. "Yes, I reckon it's my mistake." His voice lost its snarl, and his fingers groped down into his vest pocket. "Here, have a cigar," he invited placat- ingly. "Why, say—thanks"—the Hawk beamed radi- antly. "Say, I" "All right, young fellow"—with a tfave of his hand, MacVightie moved to the door. "All right, young fellow. No harm done, eh? Good-night!" The door closed. The footsteps without grew fainter, and died away. The Hawk, staring at the door, apostrophised the doorknob. "Well, say, what do you know about that!" he said numbly. "I wonder what's up?" He rose from his chair after a moment as though moved by a sort of subconscious impulse, mechani- cally pushed his bed back against the wall, and re- turned to his chair. He dug out his pipe abstractedly, filled it, and lighted it. He gathered up the cards, shuffled them, THE PAYMASTER'S SAFE 53 and began to lay them out again on the table—and paused, and drummed with his fingers on the table top. "They're after some guy that's ducked his nut somewhere around here," he decided aloud. "I wonder what's up?" The Hawk spread out his remaining cards—and swept them away from him into an indiscriminate heap. "Aw, to blazes with cards!" he ejaculated impa- tiently. He put his feet up on the table, and sucked stead- ily at his pipe. "It's a cinch he never went by that door," the Hawk assured the toe of his boot. "I guess he handed that 'bull' one, all right, all right." The minutes passed. The Hawk, engrossed, con- tinued to suck on his pipe. Then from far down the stairs there came a faint creak, and an instant later the outer door closed softly. The Hawk's feet came down from the table, and the Hawk smiled—grimly. "Tut, tut!" chided the Hawk. "That treadmill diminuendo on the top step and the keyhole stunt is pretty raw, Mr. MacVightie—pretty raw! You forgot the front door, Mr. MacVightie—I don't seem to remember having heard it open or close until just now!" The back of the Hawk's chair, as he pushed it well away from the table and stood up, curiously enough noT intercepted itself between the keyhole and the 54 THE WIRE DEVILS Interior of the room. He stepped to the door, and slipped the bolt quietly into place; then, going to the. window, he reached out, and, from where it hung upon a nail driven into the sill, picked up the pay bag. "That's a pretty old gag, too," observed the Hawk almost apologetically. "I was lucky to get by with it." The Hawk's attention was now directed to his trunk, that was between the table and the foot of the bed. He lifted the lid back against the wall, and removed an ingeniously fashioned false top, in the shape of a tray, that fitted innocently into the curva- ture of the lid. The Hawk stared at a magnificent diamond necklace that glittered and gleamed on the bottom of the tray, as its thousand facets caught the light—and grinned. i "If you'd only known, eh—Mr. MacVightie!" he murmured. j From the pay bag the Hawk took out the pack- ages of banknotes, the flashlight, the mask, the two pistols, and packed them neatly away in the tray. The only article left in the bag was his pocketbook. He opened this, disclosing a number of crisp, new ten-dollar bills. He held one of them up to the light for a moment, studying it admiringly. "I guess these won't be much more good around here, according to that little conversation between MacVightie and the superintendent," he muttered— and, with a shrug of his shoulders, tossed the entire number into the tray. He fitted the false top back into the lid, and closed AT BALD CREEK STATION 57 on this point, for the very simple reason that the Hawk himself had not been entirely idle during those twenty-four hours that were just past"! Again the sounder broke into a splutter; but this time the gnawing sound was not resumed—the win- dow fastenings were loosened now. Came then the distant rumble of an approaching train; the rumble deepening into a roar; the roar dis- integrating itself into its component sounds, the wheel trucks beating at the rail joints, the bark of the exhaust; then the scream of the brakeshoes bit- ing at the wheel tires; the hiss of steam—and in the mimic pandemonium, the Hawk raised the window, and crawled in over the sill. And again the Hawk chuckled to himself. Up and down the line to-night, at all stations where there were no night operators, the road's detectives stood guard over the telegraph instruments. It had been MacVightie's plan, originated the night before. It was very clever of MacVightie—if somewhat abortive! Also, quite irrelevant of course, and quite apart from that little matter of ten thousand dol- lars which he, the Hawk, had taken from the pay- master's safe last night, MacVightie to-night was likely to be in no very pleasant mood! The engine without, blowing from a full head of steam, drowned out all other sounds. The Hawk picked his way across the room to a position near the connecting door, and composedly seated himself upon the floor behind a number of piled-up boxes and parcels. With a grin of acknowledgment to 58 THE WIRE DEVILS the escaping steam, he coolly moved two of the par- cels a few inches to right and left, thus providing himself with an excellent view into the operator's room. From one pocket he took an exceedingly small flashlight, and from another a notebook, and from his hip pocket his automatic pistol. This latter he transferred to his right-hand coat pocket. Bunch- ing the bottom of his coat over his hand, he flashed on the tiny ray, found a convenient ledge formed by one of the boxes, and upon this laid down his note- book. The first page, as he opened the book, con- tained a neatly drawn sketch of the interior of Bald Creek station. He turned this over, leaving the book open at a blank page, and switched off his light. The door from the platform opened and closed, as the train pulled out again, a man stepped into the operator's room—and in the darkness the Hawk smiled appreciatively. It was MacVightie, and Mac- Vightie's thin lips were drawn tighter than usual, and the brim of the slouch hat, though pulled far forward, did not hide the scowl upon MacVightie's countenance. "Well, you're here all right, Lanson, eh?" he flung out brusquely. "Nothing yet, by any chance, of course?" Lanson, from a chair at the operator's elbow, nodded a greeting. "Not yet," he said. MacVightie was glancing sharply around him. "Martin," he ordered abruptly, "close those two ticket wickets!" AT BALD CREEK STATION 59 The operator rose obediently, and pulled down the little windows that opened, one on each side of the office, on the men's and women's waiting rooms. "What's that door there?" demanded MacVigh- tie, pointing toward the rear room. "Just a place I had partitioned off for stores and small express stuff," Martin answered. "There's no back entrance." "All right, then," said MacVightie. He pulled up a chair for himself on the other side of the op- erator, as Martin returned to his seat. "You know what you're here for, Martin—what you've to do? Mr. Lanson has told you?" "Yes," Martin replied. "I'm to test out for east or west, if there's any of that monkeying on the wire to-night." "Show me how it's done," directed MacVightie tersely. The operator reached over to the switchboard and picked up a key-plug. "I've only got to plug this in—here—or here. Those are my ground wires east and west. The main batteries are west of us at Selkirk, you know. If I ground out everything east, for instance, and he's working to the east of us the sounder'll stop because I've cut him off from the main batteries, and we'll hear nothing unless I adjust the relay down to get the weak circuit from the local batteries. If he's working west of us the sounder will be much stronger because the main batteries at Selkirk, with 60 THE WIRE DEVILS the eastern half of the division cut out, will be work- ing on a shorter circuit." "I see." MacVightie frowned. "And he'd know it—so Mr. Lanson told me last night." "Yes; he'd know it," said Martin. "The same as we would." "Well, you can do it pretty quick, can't you?" sug- gested MacVightie. "Sort of accidentally like! We don't want to throw a scare into him. You'd know almost instantly whether he was east or west, wouldn't you? That's all that's necessary—to-night J Then let him go ahead again. We'll have found out what we want to know." He turned to Lanson, his voice rasping suddenly. "Did you see the Jour- nal on the 'Crime Wave' this afternoon?" Lanson's alert, grey eyes took on an angry glint. "No; I didn't see it, but I suppose it's the old story. I wish they'd cut it out! It hurts the road, and it doesn't get them anywhere." "Perhaps not," said MacVightie, with a thin smile; "but it gets me! Yes, it's about the same— all except the last of it. Big headlines: 'Ten thou- sand dollars stolen from paymaster's safe last night —What is being done to stop this reign of assassina- tion, theft, outrage, crime?—Has the clue afforded by the Hawk's release from Sing Sing been thor- oughly investigated?' And then a list of the crimes committed in the last ten days—two murders, one in the compartment of that sleeping car; the theft of the diamond necklace; the express robbery; and so on through the list, ending up with last night. Then AT BALD CREEK STATION 61 a nasty shot at the local police; and, finally, prefac- ing the remark with the statement that the crimes were all connected with the railroad, a thinly veiled hint that I am either a boy on a man's job, or else asleep, in either of which cases I ought to be—well, you understand?" MacVightie's fist came down with a crash on the operator's table. Lanson, with a worried look, nodded his head. "Damn it!" said MacVightie. "I "He stopped abruptly, and laid his hand on the operator's sleeve. "Look here, Martin," he said evenly, "you're the one man that Mr. Lanson has picked out of the di- vision, you're the one man outside of Mr. Lanson and myself who has any inkling that these secret messages coming over our wires have anything to do with these crimes—you understand that, don't you? This is pretty serious business. The newspaper didn't exaggerate any. We're up against a gang of crooks, cleverly organised, who will stop at nothing. Murder appears to be a pastime with them! Do you get me—Martin?" For a long second the two men looked each other steadily in the eyes. "Yes," said Martin simply. "All right!" said MacVightie. "I just want you to realise the necessity of keeping anything you may hear, or anything that may happen here to-night, under your hat." He turned to Lanson again, the scowl heavy upon his face once more. "I was go- ing to say that I know who the man is that slipped through my fingers last night." 6* THE WIRE DEVILS "You—what!" Lanson leaned sharply forward in his chair. "But he got away! You said he" "It was the Hawk"—MacVightie bit off the words. "The Hawk?" "The Hawk!" "But how do you know?" demanded Lanson in- credulously. "You said yourself that he had left no clue to his identity. How do you know?" MacVightie reached into his pocket, took out his pocketbook, and from the pocketbook passed a new, crisp ten-dollar banknote to Lanson. "What's this?" inquired Lanson. "The counter- feit ten-dollar bill you showed me last night?" "No—another one," MacVightie answered curt- ly. "Look on the other side." Lanson turned the banknote over, stared at it, and whistled suddenly under his breath. "'With the compliments of the Hawk!' " he read aloud. He stared now at MacVightie. "Perhaps it's a fake, inspired by that newspaper article yester- day evening," he suggested. "It's no fake," declared MacVightie grimly. "The Hawk wrote that there all right—it was inside the pay bag in which the ten thousand was carried away from the paymaster's office last night." "You mean—you recovered the bag?" cried Lan- son eagerly. "Where? When?" The Hawk, watching MacVightie's face, grinned wickedly. MacVightie's jaws were clamped bellig- AT BALD CREEK STATION 63 erently, and upon MacVightie's cheeks was an angry flush. "Oh, yes, I 'recovered' it!" MacVightie snapped. "He's got his nerve with him! The bag was found reposing in full view on the baggage counter at Sel- kirk this afternoon—addressed to me. Nobody knows how it got there. But"—MacVightie's fist came down again upon the operator's table—"this time he's overplayed his hand. We knew he had been released from Sing Sing, and that he had come West, but it was only surmise that he was actually around here—now we know. In the second place, it's pretty good evidence that he's in with the gang that's flooded the country with those counterfeit tens, and you'll remember I told you last night I had a hunch it was the same gang that was operating out here— well, two and two make four!" "You think he's ?" Lanson swept his hand suggestively toward the telegraph instruments. "Yes—and the leader of 'em, now he's out here on the ground!" returned MacVightie gruffly. The Hawk had taken a pencil from his pocket, and was scribbling aimlessly at the top of the page in his notebook. "Sure!" confided the Hawk to himself. "I thought maybe you'd dope it out like that." There was silence for a moment in the office, save for the intermittent clicking of the sounder, to which the Hawk now gave his attention. His pencil still made aimless markings on the top of the page—it was only routine business going over the wire. Then 64 THE WIRE DEVILS Lanson moved uncomfortably in his chair, and th* chair legs squeaked on the bare floor. MacVightie spoke again: "Well," he said bluntly, "you've got all of my end of it, except that I've placed men in hiding at every station on the line where there are no night operators. What about you? Started your outside line inspection?" "Yes," Lanson answered. "I've had three men out with section crews working from different points. But it's slow business making an inspection that's careful enough to be of any use, and even then it's a pretty tall order to call the turn on anything when there's already so many legitimate splices and repairs on the wires." "Well—any results?" asked MacVightie. Lanson shook his head. "We found what we thought was a new splice in one place, but it turned out to have been made by one of our own men two weeks ago, only lie had for- gotten to report it." MacVightie's eyes narrowed. "One of our own men—eh?" he repeated curtly. "Who was it?" "Nothing doing there!" Lanson shook his head again, emphatically this time. "It was Calhoun." "Calhoun—eh?" observed MacVightie softly. Lanson bridled slightly. "What's the matter with Calhoun?" he inquired testily. "Got anything against him?" "Never heard of him before," said MacVightie, AT BALD CREEK STATION 65 with a short laugh. "But I'll take pains to make his acquaintance." "Then you might as well spare yourself the trouble," advised Lanson. "I can tell you before- hand* that he carries a good record on this division, and that he's one of the best linemen we've got." "I daresay," admitted MacVightie coolly. "But amongst other things we're looking for good line- men to-night—who forget to make reports. You needn't get touchy, Lanson, because one of your men's names comes up. You can make up your mind to it there's an inside end to this, and" The tiny ray of the Hawk's flashlight shot sud- denly upon the notebook's open page, as the sounder broke into a sharp tattoo. "'wtaz'—stroke at four," he muttered, as he be- gan to write. "Three—one—two. They've changed the code to-night—'qxpetlk '" There was a sharp exclamation from the other room. "Listen! There he is now!" Martin cried. Chairs were pushed back—the three men were on their feet. "What's he sending?" questioned MacVightie in- stantly. The Hawk scowled at the disturbance, as, over their voices, he concentrated his attention upon the sounder. He wrote steadily on: ". . . huwkmuhhdtlqgvh. . . ." "Same as usual," Martin replied. "Just a jumble of letters." 66 THE WIRE DEVl^v "Well then, get ready to throw that ground, or whatever you call it, into him!" ordered MacVightie tensely. "I'm ready," said Martin. "All right then—now!" The Hawk nodded to himself, as his pencil un- flaggingly noted down letter after letter. The sounder was very perceptibly stronger. "Westl" Martin cried out. "You noticed the difference in strength, didn't you? He's somewhere between here and Selkirk. That's" The sounder had suddenly ceased. "But he's stopped," said MacVightie; "and you said if he stopped" "That's nothing to do with it!" Martin inter- posed hurriedly. "The wire isn't grounded now." "He's taken to cover, I guess," said Lanson. "I was afraid he would scare, no matter how "He fcroke off abruptly. "Wait! What's that!" The sounder was clicking again; but the sharp, quick tattoo was gone, and in its place, as though in- deed it drawled, the sending came in leisurely, de- liberate fashion. The Hawk's pencil resumed its labours—and then, with a queer smile, the Hawk scratched out what he had just written. It was no longer code—it was in exceedingly plain English. Martin was reading directly from the sounder: "'Try—that—game—just—once — more— and—the—division— goes —up—in—the—air AT BALD CREEK STATION 67 »—and—a—train—o r—two—m aybe—to—a— place—that — Mister — MacVightie — will— some—day—honour — with—his — presence. That's—quite—plain—isn't—it? If—you— think — this — is — a—bluff—call—it. Now —keep—off—the—wire—or—have—it — cut. Suit—yourselves.'" "Well, of all the infernal nerve!" exploded Mac- Vightie furiously. "And the worst of it," said Lanson shortly, "is that he's got us where he wants us!" Once more the sounder broke into the old quick tattoo. The Hawk was writing steadily again. There was silence now between the three in the of- fice. A minute, two, three went by—the sounder ceased—the Hawk closed his notebook. Then in its leisurely drawl the sounder broke again; and again Martin read aloud: "'Pleasant — evening — isn't—it? Ask— MacVightie — if — he—has—seen—anything —of—the—Hawk. Good-night.'" But this time there was only a menacing smile on MacVightie's lips. "He's west of here, you say?" he shot at Martin. "Yes," said Martin briefly. "And that splice of Calhoun's, Lanson? Where was that?" > 68 THE WIRE DEVILS Lanson, drumming with his fingers on the edge of the operator's table, looked up with a frown. "Nothing but coincidence," he said tersely. "Yes, it was west of here—pretty near Selkirk." Hei moved toward the door. "There's nothing more we, can do here to-night. I'm going back on No. 17. Let's get out on the platform until she shows up." The Hawk very carefully replaced his notebook, his .flashlight and his pencil in his pockets, and, as MacVightie and the superintendent went out of the; door, he retreated softly back to the rear window. The window being up, he quite as noiselessly slipped out over the sill. He debated a moment about the window, and decided that if any significance were attached to the fact that it was found open, Mac- Vightie, for instance, was fully entitled to make the most of the significance! Then, the rattle of a wagon sounding from the direction of the road, the Hawk moved along to the end of the station, and waited. The wagon, in the light of its own smoky oil lamps, proved to be the town hotel bus. There were evidently other passengers for Selkirk besides him- self and the two officials, as several people alighted from the bus. In view of this fact the Hawk calmly lighted a cigarette, though the glow of the match exposed his face only to the blank wall of the sta- tion, and walked around to the front platform. He located MacVightie and Lanson; and, there- after, at a safe distance, did not lose sight of them. MacVightie's memory for faces would hardly be AT BALD CREEK STATION 69 over-rated if credited with being able to bridge a matter of some twenty-four hours, particularly as MacVightie had evidenced unusual interest in the occupant of the room on the first landing over a cer- tain ill-favoured saloon the night before! The Hawk, therefore, was unostentatiously attentive to MacVightie's movements; so much so that, when No. 17 pulled in and MacVightie and Lanson boarded the chair car at the rear of the train, the Hawk, when No. 17 pulled out, quite logically boarded the smoking car at the forward end. The Hawk chose the most uncomfortable seat in the car—the rear seat with stiff, upright, unyielding back, that was built against the wash-room—and, settling himself down, produced his notebook and pencil. The water-cooler could be quite confidenti- ally trusted not to peer over his shoulder! On the second page of the notebook—the first having been devoted to the sketch of Bald Creek Station—the Hawk, as he had taken it from the sounder, had written this: "wtazqxpetlkhuwkmuhhdtlqgvhmmpyhqltvddf rmnluvponfkhomovfdhgvkerkmmawrqfljkwte dvsoedtdqqhmgfdoifkrxqkuvwruhgsruwmtdoo ommtlqhvksolfoghvklstrvrzqmqxpemkhurqjkh hvdbfvkdzcmnvohrtpqghutzklwkj hkdqm mo g v pdlqlfxoquhgpifthglxgpkhlmfj kwhttwb hv d p q g kdrllueomosdfnhtashqkjvlyhtgmwdlomruhgegf orwmpqkhvwtzrwkmmrxvddgiqggrqoodusnvrx wmfkriuhkvhuymthixqljtgwrqpxpehhouwkdmd gwsxwsvdexmuoohwtjqlqklmp" 70 THE WIRE DEVILS The Hawk tore out a page from the back of the notebook, and set down the letters of the alphabet in a column. Opposite these he painstakingly set down another column of letters. After that the Hawk worked slowly. It was not quite so simple as it looked—not merely the substitution of letters in a different order of rotation. Nor, apparently, from the Hawk's observations as he muttered to himself, were all messages to be deciphered alike—the code appeared to possess within itself an elasticity for variation. "At four . . . key letter changed . . . stroke!" mut- tered the Hawk. "N-u-m-b . . . pass three . . . e-r-t-h . . . stroke one. . . ." The Hawk's notebook, closed, was reposing idly on the window ledge and the Hawk was lighting an- other cigarette, as the conductor came down the aisle. The Hawk presented the return stub of a ticket to Selkirk. The conductor punched it, and passed on—and the Hawk picked up his notebook again. Again he was interrupted—and again. The wa- ter-cooler, after all, was not proving an unmixed blessing. It seemed as though every man in the car were possessed of an inordinate thirst. They were well on toward Selkirk when the Hawk finally completed the deciphering of the message. It now ran: ««yt^/numb^erthnSreea//ndsenSnS^veni^saac/nS kirs^flchelijAlsca^shbojta^tjfixton/ight^aspl^/" AT BALD CREEK STATION 71 anne0dcal/jfhoun)dy(/tore^port0/alll^^ihes^p lic^eshi^ysowni^numbi^jteron^iesay^shawj£n\ kslc/y|5nder/whit)cJchani^ip^dsma/nicu^rcdmMy ediuj(mhei^ghtc//^yesa^ndha//irbl^j