Sound of the Trumpet (20 page)

Looking up with a start, Entry saw the police car and several dark, silent figures on the pavement close beside him, their rubber-shod feet quite unheard by the man who had thought he was just putting over a big deal and making good on it.

“It’s
one
of them,” said John. “He’s just been giving me a new line of talk about a kidnapping he wants me to stop. It’s Big Kingsley’s daughter. Better take notice.”

Entry started to slink into his accustomed invisibility, but a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder and another on his arm, and a pair of steel bracelets were snapped about his wrists. That one man was caught. A man, too, who had been most successful in many an unlawful operation, both in this country and in Europe. Perhaps he had grown too confident in his own powers and was sure that he was going to get away with this job, also.

But Kurt Entry was not figuring on Lacey’s having failed in his mission of the kidnapping. Lacey did not as a rule fail, and the agreement had been that if anything should go wrong, a small boy who was known to them both would somehow communicate with him. Lacey hadn’t stopped him. There had been no small boy on hand to beg for five cents to pay his bus fare home. Kurt hadn’t been able to sight that small boy anywhere. Could it be possible that some harm had come to him? He wasn’t a boy who had things happen to him. He was smooth and sharp and slick as a whistle about getting out of jams. If he only was about, there were ways he could send a message, signs agreed upon by gestures—or when it was dark there were sounds. What was that? A cat squalling! That was the boy, showing that he was aware of what had happened. He would report to Lacey, of course. Entry had only to lie low and keep his mouth shut, and eventually Lacey would find a way to set him free. Yes, even if they locked him up for the night, he would be released later. He cheered up and cleared his throat strenuously. He blew his nose, and he put forth a pitiful plea that he knew nothing about this whole affair. That would let the boy see what was going on. He would be rescued.

But what Entry did not know was that Lacey’s part of the plan
had
failed. That he had not been able to kidnap the girl. She had not fallen for his plan to take her home. And that being the case, Lacey himself was in no position to do any rescuing. As for Weaver, he had departed hastily for parts unknown, not wishing to be mixed up in any trouble with the “Big Kingsleys.” Of course he had planned such an escape as a possibility from the first. But a quick message to Lacey instructed him to get hold of that Sargent kid at all costs, or failing in that, take the girl and see what could be done with her in getting facts. “Definite information is imperative at once, at all costs.”

There followed a number of sessions between Erda and Lacy, and Erda was more and more entrusted with delicate situations to be dealt with, involving heavy risks both to herself and to those for whom she worked.

That first trip of Erda’s to the inner buildings of the plant was not her last one by any means. More and more she found means to an access that would better reveal the inner workings of the plant and the new inventions. So, quietly, unsuspected, the knowledge of vital facts, even to the delicate measurements made by accurate instruments especially designed for this particular operation, were not only measured by expert hands, but also photographed from every possible angle, until an exact duplication of every item with which the Vandingham plant had to do, went traveling out to the enemy.

And day by day the men who were making these marvelous death-dealing instruments, sworn to keep their secrets inviolable, labored on with the one thought in mind that they were giving their strength and the labor of their hands to make the winning of the war possible for their country, and for freedom. And they never suspected that there was one stealing in and out among them like a ray of lovely sunshine—and “the young boss’s girl” they called her now—giving her smiles and her laughing words here and there, cheering them on their way, who was undermining all that they did. She was giving away all their precious secrets to the enemy who was on the other side of the ocean. She was working away with a fiendish intensity to beat them to their goal and steal their ammunition before they had ever completed it.

And so the days went on, and only Kurt Entry went to jail as yet, because they could not find the other men who were in absolute hiding. Only Lacey remained at large, for he had ways of disguising himself and getting places, and he was important to the whole outfit. In fact, he and Erda were quite a team in themselves. His main object now was to get hold of John Sargent, for Weaver was still determined to have him in their service. Some incident of his past that had been brought to Weaver’s knowledge had impressed him as being one who would be invaluable to them, and if he made good in this Vandingham affair it would be a sort of a test case, and also bind him to their cause.

But John Sargent, after he had whistled Kurt Entry into custody, could not get away from the memory of his last words. Was it true that Lisle Kingsley was in trouble? That anyone had dared to lay hands upon her and imprison her? He ought to do something about that. Or should he, more than he had already done by telling the police? Maybe it was all a hoax, and they had merely been using her name to tempt him. But if it wasn’t? If it should be true, and he was the only link between Lisle and safety he surely must do something to find out. Oh, if he had only had his head about him and made that sneaking reptile tell where she was before he gave the signal to the police. He wasn’t a very wise person or he would have led this man on to further revelations before he gave him over to the police. The only thing was that he happened to know that just then the police were about to start out on their rounds, and if he gave the signal before they left he would stand some chance of having them get his man. Perhaps, after all, it was best so, for if it were true that Lisle was kidnapped they would have one man at least and might be able to put him through such a grilling that he would
have
to tell what he knew.

But John was not happy about leaving it at that. He had to do something himself. He simply
had
to find out right away whether Lisle was safe or not. He hesitated to call her on the telephone, for that seemed a presumption, and if she was at home, and safe, how could he explain? He wouldn’t want to say he called to see if she had been kidnapped. If she was safe, then he ought not to let her know that such a thing had been considered. Or ought he? Perhaps she ought to be aware of danger and be on the alert. Yet was it fair to fill her with fears? Perhaps he should hunt up her father and tell him. But no, that didn’t seem the right thing either. Why cause alarm to her father and mother when there might be nothing to it at all? Take it all in all, John Sargent had never been in quite such a perplexity. But after considering a moment, he walked straight into a drugstore and looked up the Kingsley number. Even after he had it, he stood for a moment in the booth considering before he finally called the number. He found himself trembling as he waited. Would she be at home? Oh, if he could be sure it would be her own voice that would answer! If she wasn’t there, he must surely do something. He couldn’t take any chances. He would perhaps have to go to the police and ask advice if he didn’t find her. What a fool he had been not to have asked a few more questions of that man! He could have acted as if he were considering taking the job, and the creature might have told him more.

Then he heard a man’s voice. That would be their butler. It sounded like a servant.

“I would like to speak to Miss Lisle Kingsley, please,” he said, trying to make his voice as steady as possible. “Is she in?”

“I’ll see, sir,” said the servant. “Who shall I say wants to speak with her?”

“Mr. Sargent,” said John. “John Sargent.”

The servant went away with a deferential murmur and was gone several moments. John stood there anxiously waiting, growing more troubled by the moment. This was a terrible situation, if he really was responsible for this girl’s safety. Then the servant returned to the telephone.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sargent, Miss Kingsley has not come in yet. Can you leave a message?”

“Oh!” said John, a great lump of fear springing up in his throat. “Do you—? That is, has she gone somewhere that I could reach her by phone? It is quite important.”

“No, I’m afraid,” said the butler. “I understand they do not have a telephone at the place where she is. It is some sort of chapel, I think, where they have classes. Perhaps it might be some of her war work.”

“Oh!” said John almost incoherently. “Is it a place where she is in the habit of going? I might try to find her. Did she go alone?”

“Oh, no! She did not go alone. Madam, her mother, does not permit her to go alone in the evening these days. She went in the car with the chauffeur. The chauffeur has not returned yet.”

John was getting his senses back, just as it used to be when he was in athletics and had made a strategic play and didn’t know yet whether it was going to reach its destination or not. Then there would come an instant of clear thinking, and his mind would be on the alert for the next play. So now he was thinking on. He had to bear this anxiety yet again. She was not back! How dared he wait before he did something more definite?

“How soon could you reasonably expect her?” he asked, trying to give his voice a natural businesslike sound.

“Well, she ought to be in any minute now. They don’t often stay as late as this. But I should say in a half hour, at least.”

John considered, his heart heavy within him.

“All right, then. I’ll call again,” he said.

“Very well, sir.”

A moment later Joseph called up to have Mark sent with the service car, and so put the butler’s mind at rest. The young lady was all right. The chauffeur was looking after her. But John Sargent carried a heavy heart as he dialed the number of the police station and held a worried conversation with his friend. No, they hadn’t been able to get any information out of the man they had arrested. “He said he’d never heard of Miss Kingsley and didn’t know what we were talking about. He’s a shifty baby all right,” finished the policeman.

“Yes, I was afraid that would be what he would say,” said John anxiously. “I should have made him tell me more, only I was afraid you would be gone and we would get nowhere.”

“It’s all right, kid. We’ll call up her house and ask to speak to her. We just tried, but the wire was busy.”

“Yes,” said John, “I was trying to get her myself, but she hasn’t come in yet.”

“That so? Well, we’ll keep watching. Don’tcha worry, kid. You ain’t ta blame. We’ll get the other birds and find out all about it.”

It was a little more than half an hour before John ventured to call the Kingsley house again, and then he held his breath till the answer came.

“Is Miss Kingsley at home yet?”

“Yes, Mr. Sargent. They have just come in. There was an accident to the car, that is, they ran over some glass or nails or something, and they had to telephone for the service car to be sent for them. But they are just entering now. I’ll call Miss Lisle.”

John stood there in the booth with the cold sweat standing on his forehead, and he found an inward trembling from head to foot. The horror and fear were over, for the time. Thank the Lord! Then he heard her voice, and it thrilled him as a voice had never done before. Afterward he called himself to account for that, but just now he was too weak with gladness to take account of it.

“Oh, I am glad to hear your voice,” he said, his own trembling with relief. “I was afraid—I was afraid something might have happened to you.”

“No! Oh no. They told you about the car and how Joseph telephoned for the other one to come, didn’t they? But I wasn’t in it, you see, and didn’t know that anything had happened to it till Joseph came for me.”

“Well, I didn’t know about the car,” owned John, “but I just had a feeling you might have gone down to the mission, and I worried, because in a way I was responsible for your going there in the first place. And I’ve been hearing—” He paused, realizing that he must somehow explain this without being too explicit, without frightening her. “You see, I’ve been hearing that there are some rather tough characters around that neighborhood. I had reason to think there were, and I felt you ought not to be down there alone. I wish you would promise me you won’t go down there alone anymore.”

“Oh, but I don’t. Joseph always comes for me, and if I go late he usually takes me, too.”

“Well, please be careful, won’t you? Don’t trust anybody you aren’t sure of. There are lots of unpleasant things happening these days. You are too—too—
precious
—to be running any risks!”

“Why, Mr. Sargent! How strange for you to talk that way! And tonight, when I really had almost a scare. A man whose looks I didn’t like came to me at the close of the meeting—he was right outside by the door, and he told me my car had had an accident and my chauffeur had sent him to take me home.”

“Oh!” groaned John. “You didn’t go with him?”

“Why, no, of course not. You see, he was a man I had seen before who seemed to be staring at me. I’ve seen him a couple of times in different places, and it sort of made me uneasy, so I thanked him and told him he needn’t wait, that I had friends in the hall and would rather go with them, and then I went back to the teacher.”

“Thank the Lord!” said John fervently. “I think that is the man the police are looking for, and that was why I was worried when I called up and found you were not at home, and so late! So I called again, for I was uneasy.”

“Well, that was awfully kind of you. I have been wondering what had become of you. And then tonight they announced that your grandmother had died. I felt so sorry for you. And yet I know it must be good to know that she is really at rest and in heaven.”

“Yes,” said the young man. “That was the main reason for my daring to intrude upon you. I wanted to tell you of her going. You had been so kind in sending her those flowers. I shall never forget that.”

“Oh, but I’m sorry that I did not send her more. I thought of it several times, but was afraid perhaps you would think I was presuming.”