“You’re right, Josie!”
“Now,” continued Josie, reflectively, “you and I must both understand that we’re undertaking a case that is none of our business. It’s the business of Mr. Bielaski, of the department of justice, first of all; then it’s the business of Mr. Flynn, of the secret service; then it’s the business of the local police. Together, they have a thousand eyes, but enemy propagandists are more numerous and scattered throughout the nation. Your chief of police doesn’t want to interfere with the federal agents here, and the federal agents are instructed not to pay attention to what is called ‘spy hysteria,’ and so they’re letting things slide. But you believe, and I believe, that there’s more treachery underlying these circulars than appears on the surface, and if we can secure evidence that is important, and present it to the proper officials, we shall be doing our country a service. So I’ll start out on my own responsibility.”
“Doesn’t your secret service badge give you authority?” asked Mary Louise.
“No,” replied Josie; “that badge is merely honorary. Daddy got it for me so that if ever I got into trouble it would help me out, but it doesn’t make me a member of the secret service or give me a bit of authority. But that doesn’t matter; when I get evidence, I know what authority to give it to, and that’s all that is necessary.”
“Anyhow,” said Mary Louise, with a relieved sigh, “I’m glad you are going to investigate the author of those awful circulars. It has worried me a good deal to think that Dorfield is harboring a German spy, and I have confidence that if anyone can discover the traitor, you can.”
“That’s good of you,” returned Josie, with a grimace, “but I lack a similar confidence in myself. Don’t you remember how many times I’ve foozled?”
“But sometimes, Josie, you’ve won, and I hope you’ll win now.”
“Thank you,” said Josie; “I hope so, myself.”
CHAPTER X
THE EXPLOSION
Day was just beginning to break when a terrible detonation shook all Dorfield. Houses rocked, windows rattled, a sudden wind swept over the town and then a glare that was not a presage of the coming sun lit the sky.
A brief silence succeeded the shock, but immediately thereafter whistles shrieked, fire-bells clanged, a murmur of agitated voices crying aloud was heard on every side, and the people began pouring from the houses into the streets demanding the cause of the alarm.
Colonel Hathaway, still weak and nervous, stood trembling in his bathrobe when Mary Louise came to him.
“It’s the airplane factory, Gran’pa Jim,” she said. “I can see it from my windows. Something must have exploded and the buildings are on fire.”
The airplane works of Dorfield had been one of the city’s most unique institutions, but until we entered the World War it was not deemed of prime importance. The government’s vast airplane appropriations, however, had resulted in the Dorfield works securing contracts for the manufacture of war machines that straightway raised the enterprise to an important position. The original plant had been duplicated a dozen times, until now, on the big field south of the city, the cluster of buildings required for the construction of aircraft was one of the most imposing manufacturing plants in that part of the State. Skilled government aviators had been sent to Dorfield to inspect every machine turned out. Although backed by local capital, it was, in effect, a government institution because it was now devoted exclusively to government contracts; therefore the explosion and fire filled every loyal heart with a sinister suspicion that an enemy had caused the calamity.
Splendid work on the part of the fire department subdued the flames after but two of the huge shed-like buildings had been destroyed. By noon the fire was controlled; a cordon of special police surrounded the entire plant and in one of the yards a hundred and fifty workmen were corralled under arrest until the federal officers had made an investigation and decided where to place the blame.
Reassuring reports had somewhat quieted Colonel Hathaway and Mary Louise, but although they returned to their rooms, they could not sleep. Aunt Sally, realizing the situation, had an early breakfast prepared, but when she called Josie O’Gorman the girl was not in her room or in the house. She appeared just as the others were finishing their meal and sat down with a sigh of content.
“My, but the coffee smells good!” she exclaimed. “I’m worn out with the excitement.”
“Did you go to the fire, Josie?” asked Mary Louise.
“Yes, and got there in time to help drag some of the poor fellows out. Three men in the building where the explosion occurred were killed outright, and two others seriously injured. Fortunately the night shift had just quit work or the casualties would have been much greater.”
“It’s dreadful, as it is,” said Mary Louise with a shudder.
“What was the cause of the explosion!” inquired the colonel.
“Dynamite,” replied Josie calmly.
“Then it was not an accident?”
“They don’t use dynamite in making airplanes. Twenty-two machines, all complete and packed ready for shipment, were blown to smithereens. A good many others, in course of construction, were ruined. It’s a pretty bad mess, I can tell you, but the machines can be replaced, and the lives can’t.”
“I wonder who did it,” said Mary Louise, staring at her friend with frightened eyes.
“The Kaiser,” declared Josie. “He must be in fine fettle this morning, since his propaganda of murder and arson has been so successful.”
“I — I don’t quite understand you,” faltered Mary Louise.
“Josie means that this is the work of a direct emissary of the Kaiser,” explained the colonel. “We know that among us are objectors and pacifists and those who from political motives are opposing the activities of our President, but these are not dynamiters, nor do they display their disloyalty except through foolish and futile protests. One who resorts to murder and arson in an attempt to block the government’s plans, and so retard our victory, is doubtless a hired assassin and in close touch with the German master-spies who are known to be lurking in this country.”
“That’s the idea, sir,” approved Josie, nodding her tousled red head, “and better expressed than any answer of mine could have been.”
“Well, then, can’t this demon be arrested and punished?” asked Mary Louise.
“That remains to be seen,” said Josie. “An investigation is already under way. All the outgoing night shift and some of the incoming day shift have been held under suspicion, until they can be examined and carefully questioned. I heard your Chief of Police — whom I know and knows me — assert that without doubt the bomb had been placed by one of the workmen. I wonder what makes him think that. Also the police are hunting for everyone seen loitering about the airplane plant during the past twenty-four hours. They’ll spend days — perhaps weeks — in investigating, and then the affair will quiet down and be forgotten.”
“You fear they will not be able to apprehend the criminal?” from the colonel.
“Not the way the police are going at it. They’re virtually informing the criminal that they’re hunting for him but don’t know where to find him, and that if he isn’t careful they’ll get him. So he’s going to be careful. It is possible, of course, that the fellow has left traces — clues that will lead to his discovery and arrest. Still, I’m not banking much on that. Such explosions have been occurring for months, in various parts of the country, and the offenders have frequently escaped. The government suspects that German spies are responsible, but an indefinite suspicion is often as far as it gets. Evidence is lacking.”
“How about your boasted department of justice, and the secret service?” asked Mary Louise.
“They’re as good as the German spy system, and sometimes a bit better. Don’t think for a minute that our enemies are not clever,” said Josie earnestly. “Sometimes our agents make a grab; sometimes the German spy remains undiscovered. It’s diamond cut diamond — fifty-fifty. But
when we get every alien enemy sequestered in zones removed from all factories doing government work, we’re going to have less trouble. A lot of these Germans and Austrians are liberty-loving Americans, loyal and true, but we must round up the innocent many, in order to squelch the guilty few.”
The following week was one of tense excitement for Dorfield. Federal officers poured into the city to assist in the investigation; the victims were buried with honor and ceremony, wrapped in American flags to show that these “soldiers of industry” had been slain by their country’s foe; the courtrooms were filled with eager mobs hoping that evidence would be secured against some one of the many suspects. Gradually, however, the interest decreased, as Josie had predicted it would. A half dozen suspects were held for further examination and the others released. New buildings were being erected at the airplane plant, and although somewhat crippled, the business of manufacturing these necessary engines of war was soon going on much as usual.
CHAPTER XI
A FONT OF TYPE
Mary Louise went into Josie O’Gorman’s room and found the young girl bent over a table on which were spread the disloyal circulars.
“You’ve been studying those things for nearly two weeks, Josie,” she said. “Have you made any discoveries?”
“I know a lot more about the circulars than I did,” answered Josie. “For instance, there are nineteen printing offices in Dorfield, and only two of them have this kind of type.”
“Oh, that’s something, indeed!” cried Mary Louise. “One of the two offices must have printed the circulars.”
“No; the curious fact is that neither printed them,” returned Josie, regarding the circulars with a frown.
“How do you know?”
“It’s an old style of type, not much in use at present,” explained the youthful detective. “In one printing office the case that contains this type face hasn’t been used for months and months. I found all the compartments covered with dust a quarter of an inch thick. There wasn’t a trace of the type having been disturbed. I proved this by picking out a piece of type, which scattered the dust and brought to light the shining bodies of the other type in that compartment. So the circulars could never have been printed from that case of type.”
“But the other printing office?”
“Well, there they had a font of the same style of type, which is occasionally used in job printing; but it’s a small font and has only twenty-four small a’s. I rummaged the whole shop, and found none of the type standing, out of the case. Another thing, they had only three capital G’s, and one of those was jammed and damaged. In the last circular issued, no less than seven capital G’s appear. In the first one sent out I find fifty-eight small a’s. All this convinces me the circulars were issued from no regular printing office.”
“Then how did it get printed?” asked Mary Louise.
“That’s what puzzles me,” confessed Josie. “Three of the four big manufacturing concerns here have outfits and do their own printing — or part of it, anyhow — and I don’t mind saying I expected to find my clue in one of those places, rather than in a regular printing office. But I’ve made an exhaustive search, aided by the managers, and there’s no type resembling that used in the circulars in any of the private print shops. In fact, I’m up a stump!”
“But why do you attach so much importance to this matter?” queried Mary Louise.
“It’s the most direct route to the traitor. Find who printed the circulars and you’ve got your hand on the man who wrote and mailed them. But the printing baffles me, and so I’ve started another line of investigation.”
“What line is that, Josie?”
“The circular envelopes were addressed by hand, with pen and ink. The ink is a sort in common use. The envelopes are an ordinary commercial kind. The circulars are printed on half a sheet of letter-size typewriting paper, sold in several stationery store in large quantities. No clue there. But the handwriting is interesting. It’s disguised, of course, and the addressing was done by two different people — that’s plain.”
“You are wonderful, Josie!”
“I’m stupid as a clam, Mary Louise. See here!” she went to a closet and brought out a large card-board box, which she placed upon the table. It was filled to the brim with envelopes, addressed to many business firms in Dorfield, but all bearing the local postmark. “Now, I’ve been days collecting these envelopes,” continued the girl, “and I’ve studied them night after night. I’m something of a handwriting expert, you know, for that is one of the things that Daddy has carefully taught me. These envelopes came from all sorts of people — folks making inquiries, paying bills, ordering goods, and the like. I’ve had an idea from the first that some prominent person — no ordinary man — is responsible for the circulars. They’re well worded, grammatical, and the malicious insinuations are cleverly contrived to disconcert the loyal but weak brethren. However, these envelopes haven’t helped me a bit. Neither of the two persons who addressed the envelopes of the circulars addressed any of these business envelopes. Of that I’m positive.”
“Dear me,” said Mary Louise, surprised, “I’d no idea you’d taken so much trouble, Josie.”
“Well, I’ve undertaken a rather puzzling case, my dear, and it will mean more trouble than you can guess, before I’ve solved it. This pro-German scoundrel is clever; he suspected that he’d be investigated and has taken every precaution to prevent discovery. Nevertheless, the cleverest criminal always leaves some trace behind him, if one can manage to find it, so I’m not going to despair at this stage of the game.”
“Do you know,” said Mary Louise thoughtfully, “I’ve had an idea that there’s some connection between the explosion at the airplane works and the sender of these circulars.”
Josie gave her a queer look.
“What connection do you suspect?” she asked quickly.
“Why, the man who wrote those circulars would not stop at any crime to harass the government and interfere with the promotion of the war.”
“Is that as far as you’ve gone?”
“Have you gone any farther, Josie?”
“A step, Mary Louise. It looks to me as if there is an organized band of traitors in Dorfield. No one person is responsible for it all. Didn’t I say two different people addressed the circulars in disguised handwriting? Now, a bomb has to be constructed, and placed, and timed, and I don’t credit any one person with handling such a job and at the same time being aware that the utmost damage to the War Department’s plans would be accomplished by blowing up the airplane works. That argues intelligent knowledge of national and local affairs. There may be but two conspirators, and there may be more, but the more there are, the easier it will be for me to discover them.”
“Naturally,” agreed Mary Louise. “But, really, Josie, I don’t see how you’re going to locate a clue that will guide you. Have you attended the trial of those suspected of the bomb outrage?”
“I’ve seen all the testimony. There isn’t a culprit in the whole bunch. The real criminal is not even suspected, as yet,” declared Josie. “The federal officers know this, and are just taking things easy and making the trials string out, to show they’re wide awake. Also I’ve met two secret service men here — Norman Addison and old Jim Crissey. I know nearly all of the boys. But they haven’t learned anything important, either.”
“Are these men experienced detectives?”
“They’ve done some pretty good work, but nothing remarkable. In these times the government is forced to employ every man with any experience at all, and Crissey and Addison are just ordinary boys, honest and hard-working, but not especially talented. Daddy would have discovered something in twenty-four hours; but Daddy has been sent abroad, for some reason, and there are many cases of espionage and sabotage fully as important as this, in this spy-infested land. That’s why poor Josie O’Gorman is trying to help the government, without assignment or authority. If I succeed, however, I’ll feel that I have done my bit.”
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“Don’t you get discouraged, dear, at times?”
“Never! Why, Mary Louise, discouragement would prove me a dub. I’m puzzled, though, just now, and feeling around blindly in the dark to grab a thread that may lead me to success. If I have luck, presently I’ll find it.”
She put away the envelopes, as she spoke, and resuming her seat drew out her tablets and examined the notes she had made thereon. Josie used strange characters in her memoranda, a sort of shorthand she had herself originated and which could be deciphered only by her father or by herself.
“Here’s a list of suspects,” she said. “Not that they’re necessarily connected with our case, but are known to indulge in disloyal sentiments. Hal Grober, the butcher, insists on selling meat on meatless days and won’t defer to the wishes of Mr. Hoover, whom he condemns as a born American but a naturalized Englishmen. He’s another Jake Kasker, too noisy to be guilty of clever plotting.”
“They’re both un-American!” exclaimed Mary Louise. “There ought to be a law to silence such people, Josie.”
“Don’t worry, my dear; they’ll soon be silenced,” predicted her friend. “Either better judgment will come to their aid or the federal courts will get after them. We shouldn’t allow anyone to throw stones at the government activities, just at this crisis. They may think what they please, but must keep their mouths shut.”
“I’m sorry they can even think disloyalty,” said Mary Louise.
“Well, even that will be remedied in time,” was the cheerful response. “No war more just and righteous was ever waged than this upon which our country has embarked, and gradually that fact will take possession of those minds, which, through prejudice, obstinacy or ignorance, have not yet grasped it. I’m mighty proud of my country, Mary Louise, and I believe this war is going to give us Americans a distinction that will set us up in our own opinion and in the eyes of the world. But always there is a willful objection, on the part of some, toward any good and noble action, and we must deal charitably with these deluded ones and strive to win them to an appreciation of the truth.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 617
