Curlie Carson Listens In Part 9

"If you please--" Curlie broke in.

"Wait!" commanded the other, holding up his hand for silence. "Let us have no opinions before all of the evidence is in. That map may aid us in forming correct conclusions."

CHAPTER IX

A MYSTERIOUS MAP

It was indeed a curious map which had been reproduced on the large photographic print which Gladys Ardmore placed on the desk before her father.

Motioning Curlie to come forward and examine it with them, the magnate rose from his chair to bend over the map. As Curlie stood there looking down at it, the girl in her eagerness bent down so close to him that he felt her warm breath on his cheek.

Nothing, however, could have drawn his gaze from that map. Wrinkled, torn in places, patched, browned with age, smirched by many finger marks, all of which were faithfully reproduced by the freshly printed photograph, it still gave promise of revealing many a mystery if one could but read it correctly.

It showed both land and water. Here on the land was a picture of a castle and there on the water a s.h.i.+p. The sh.o.r.e of the land was not drawn as are maps with which we are in these days familiar, but was cut up in curious geometric forms which surely could not faithfully represent the true lines of the sh.o.r.e. Towns were shown, but only on the sh.o.r.eline, their names printed in by hand in such small letters as would require a magnifying gla.s.s to read them. Crossing and recrossing the water in every conceivable direction were innumerable straight lines.

About the edge of the map were eight faces of children. Their cheeks puffed out as if blowing, they appeared to represent the wind that blew from certain quarters.

All the writing was in some foreign language. In the lower left-hand corner was what appeared to be the name of the maker but this was so blotted out as to be unreadable.

"Huh!" The magnate straightened up. "That's a strange map and appears to be very ancient, but I can hardly see how it is going to help us with our present problem."

"There is still the writing," suggested Gladys, turning over the other photograph.

"That," said Mr. Ardmore, after a moment's study of it, "is written in some strange tongue and is, I take it, unintelligible to us all."

"It's a photograph of the back of the map," suggested Curlie, pointing out certain spots where the wrinkles and tears were the same.

"My French teacher will be here at ten o'clock. He knows several languages. Perhaps he could help us," suggested Gladys.

"We will leave that to him," said her father. "Now about these messages," he went on, turning to Curlie. "What is your theory?"

Stammeringly Curlie proceeded to explain the idea which had come to him, the notion that Vincent Ardmore and some pal of his had been planning a secret trip of some sort.

"That is entirely possible," said Ardmore. "Vincent is daring, even rash at times. If some wild fancy leaped into his head, he would attempt anything. Now that you speak of it, I do think there might be something in your theory. Perhaps after all we may get some light from that map and the writing on the back of it. I shall await the coming of the professor with much anxiety."

"Father," exclaimed Gladys, "I have seen some such maps as this one at some other place."

"Where?"

"It was over at that big library, the one you are a director of."

"The Newtonian?"

"Yes. I was over there once and they showed me a great number of ancient maps. Oh, a very great number, and such strange affairs as they were!

There were some similar to this one. I know there were!"

"Young man," said the magnate, turning to Curlie, "may I command your services on this matter for the day?"

Curlie bowed.

"Good! You will not be unrewarded. I am of the opinion that something may be learned by a study of the maps my daughter speaks of.

Unfortunately I am engaged; I cannot go to the library. Would it be asking too much were I to request that you accompany her?"

Curlie a.s.sured him it would not. In his heart of hearts he a.s.sured himself that it would be a great privilege.

"Very well then, Gladys," the magnate bowed to his daughter, "I suggest that you plan on being back here at eleven. By that time your French teacher may have something to tell us."

Bowing to them both, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

As the neat little town car, which was apparently Gladys Ardmore's exclusive property, hurried them away toward the north side library, Curlie had time to think and to steal a look now and then at his fair hostess.

Matters had been going rather rapidly of late. He found it difficult to keep up with the march of events. What should be his next move? He was torn between two conflicting interests: his loyalty to the radio secret service bureau and his desire to be of service to this girl and her father. The girl, as he stole a glance at her, appeared disturbed and troubled. There was a tenseness about the lines of her mouth, a droop to her eyelids. "For all the world as if she were in some way to blame for what has happened," he told himself.

Instantly the question popped into his mind: "Does she know more than she cares to tell?" He thought of the wireless equipment which had been removed from the wrecked car before the reporters had arrived. The laborer would hardly do that without orders from someone. Who had that someone been? The millionaire had denied all knowledge of the radiophone messages. Curlie believed that he had told the truth. Here was an added mystery. He was revolving this in his mind when the girl spoke:

"It must be very interesting listening in."

"Listening in?" Curlie feigned ignorance of her meaning.

"Yes, isn't that what you do? Listen in on radio all the time?"

Curlie started. How did she know?

"Why, yes, since you've asked, that is my work."

"Where--where--" she hesitated, "is your station?"

"That," smiled Curlie, "is a state secret; very few know where it is."

"Oh!" she breathed. "A mystery?"

Curlie nodded.

"Something like that."

"I love mysteries," she whispered. "I love to unravel them. Some day I shall surprise you. I shall come walking into that secret room of yours." There was a look on her face that he had not seen there before.

It was disturbing. It spoke of a quality which, he concluded, she had inherited from her father, the quality of firmness and determination, which had made him great.

"I--I'd rather you wouldn't try," he almost stammered.

"Oh! here we are," she exclaimed, "at the library."

Leaping out of the car she led the way up the broad steps of an imposing gray stone structure.

"Down this way," she whispered, as if awed by the vast fund of knowledge stowed away between those walls. Without further words they made their way within.