CHAPTER TWO
A Secret Service Case
When Tim reached the _News_ office he found a note rolled into histypewriter asking him to see the managing editor. He crossed the largenews room and knocked at the glass-panelled door which bore the printedwords, "George Carson, Managing Editor."
"Come in," boomed a voice from behind the door and Tim stepped into theoffice. "You wanted to see me?"
"Sit down, Tim," smiled the sandy-haired editor who guided thedestinies of the _News_. He motioned toward a chair.
"I've had some correspondence with Ace McDowell of the High Flyers, aflying circus that is rated one of the best in the country. He wants tobring his show in here this week-end under the auspices of the _News_.What do you think about it?"
"I've never met Ace or any of his fliers," replied Tim, "but they havethe reputation of putting on a good air show."
"It struck me as rather a good idea," went on the managing editor. "Wecould give the show a lot of space in the _News_ and it would helppopularize the airport. Some people are kicking about the taxes theyhave to pay to help support the field. Do you think you could arrangethings with Carl Hunter so the show can come in Saturday afternoon andput on their stunts Sunday? Of course they'll be carrying passengersbetween stunt flights."
"I'll call Hunter at once," promised Tim.
He left the managing editor's office and placed the call from one ofthe telephones in the editorial room.
"I've no objections to the High Flyers," the airport manager said, "butthey'll have to pay the field the usual percentage for taking uppassengers."
"I'll put that in the contract," promised Tim. "Keep this under yourhat for I wouldn't want the _Advance_ to print the story of our own airshow first."
"I'll forget all about it until I read your story tomorrow," promisedHunter.
Tim returned to the managing editor's office.
"Hunter has no objections but the High Flyers must pay the fieldfifteen per cent of all the money they take in on passenger rides.That's the customary percentage for barnstormers."
The managing editor had the contract from the High Flyers on his deskand Tim, at his suggestion, filled out the blank.
"I'll telegraph McDowell that we will expect them to land hereSaturday," said Carson. "They're over at Charleston this week."
"You might ask him to send on any pictures of the flyers and planesthat are available," suggested Tim.
When Tim left the managing editor's office he knew he was in for a busyweek. There would be stories every day about the flying circus and thenthe problems of parking and policing the airport, for a huge crowdwould be on hand to see the stunt flying.
"Get the Jupiter all tuned up?" asked someone behind him.
Tim turned to face Ralph Graves, another _News_ reporter who had beenhis flying companion on many an adventure. Two years before when newshad been breaking fast on the skyways, Tim had trained Ralph in flyingand the other reporter now held a transport license. They were bosomcompanions and their managing editor counted on them coming in with anystory to which they were assigned.
"I didn't get all of the plugs cleaned," said Tim, "so I'm having theboys at the field finish the job."
"What's on Carson's mind?" asked Ralph, jerking a thumb toward themanaging editor's door.
"He's just contracted to sponsor the appearance here of Ace McDowelland the High Flyers. They'll be in Saturday and put on their stuntsSunday afternoon."
"Which means plenty of work for us," commented Ralph.
"It will mean plenty of work but it will have everyone talking aboutthe _News_ being alive and wide awake and that's what we want. The_Advance_ is slipping every day and some morning this fall I wouldn'tbe surprised if we wake up and find that our rival paper has folded upand, like the Arabs, silently stolen away."
"That won't hurt my feelings a bit," said Ralph. "The fellows on the_Advance_ have made it mighty tough for us these last few months. Theylie, cheat and steal to get their stories and I've run into some actualbribery."
"So have I, but it won't win for them in the long run. I'm glad we'reworking for a paper and an editor that's clean from top to bottom."
Returning to his desk, Tim rummaged through the drawers until he foundan aviation magazine which contained an illustrated sketch of AceMcDowell and his flying circus. McDowell was short and swarthy witheyes that were a little too close together to suit Tim. But the _News_reporter knew that the head of the flying circus was a real flyer andwould put on a good show. There was no sense in building up a prejudicejust from a picture.
Tim rolled a sheet of copy paper into his typewriter and after amoment's thought on the wording of his opening sentence, startedhammering out the story announcing the coming of the flying circus. Bythe use of plenty of adjectives he contrived to write a full columnand, after reading over the story and correcting one or two minorerrors, he laid it on the copy desk.
Dan Watkins, veteran head of the desk, looked up from beneath his greeneye-shade.
"Good story?" he asked.
"One of the best you'll ever read when it comes to writing a lot from alittle," grinned Tim. "As a matter of fact, Dan, we're promoting an aircircus next Sunday and I have a hunch that Mr. Carson will want a fullpage headline on one of the inside pages tomorrow."
The chief copyreader scanned the story with practiced eye.
"I should say your hunch is correct. I'll mark it for an inside bannerright now."
The chief copyreader was the only one at the large desk and Tim satdown on the edge of the horseshoe-shaped work table.
"I wish you had been at the airport this afternoon," he said. "You'vean uncanny memory for faces and names and it would have come in handy."
"See someone you couldn't place?"
"There's something vaguely familiar about him. I've seen his picturesome place and I've a hunch there's a mighty good story connected withhis coming to Atkinson."
"You can always ask them questions," grinned Dan.
"I asked plenty of questions and didn't get a thing."
"Wouldn't he talk?"
"He talked but he didn't say anything. I tried the stewardess and alsoCarl Hunter but both of them had received instructions from the generalmanager of the line in Chicago to extend this man every courtesy and doas he directed. The stewardess had him down as 'Mr. Seven' because heoccupied chair seven coming out. When I tackled him about that he saidthat 'Mr. Seven' was a good enough name. I couldn't make a dent in him.He's smooth as silk and as hard as steel."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know exactly. I'll try to keep tab on him at the Ransom Housewhere he is staying but with this flying circus coming to town I won'thave much extra time. I'm going to dig into the files and see what Ican find there. I'm positive I've seen his picture in the last year."
"I'll trail along over to the hotel with you if you'd like. Maybe Icould identify him. I've got one of those card index memories."
"I thought maybe you'd help me out, Dan. We'll have a try at it aftersupper. I'll meet you at the Ransom House."
Tim and Ralph had dinner together down town and Tim told of his meetingthe mysterious "Mr. Seven."
"Sounds like a story to me," chuckled Ralph, "and I'll be way wrong ifyou don't dig it out. Guess I'll invite myself in on the party tonightand trail over to the Ransom House with you."
"Glad to have you. Maybe you'll be able to identify my mysteriousstranger."
They discussed plans for the flying circus and after leaving therestaurant proceeded to the city's leading hotel. Dan Watkins waswaiting for them in the lobby.
"I'll see what name he registered under," said Dan. Inquiry at the deskrevealed that the object of Dan's curiosity had registered as Mr. G.Seven of Chicago.
"He's in the dining room," said Tim when he rejoined his companions."We might as well sit down here. He'll have to pass almost directly infront of us, which will give Dan a good chance t
o see him."
"If Dan can't identify him, I'll be glad to help you go through thefiles," offered Ralph.
"Thanks. With all of the details necessary in arranging for the flyingcircus I'll be glad to have a little extra help. Look sharp now. Herecomes our man."
"Mr. Seven" was dressed in the same well-tailored suit he had worn whenhe stepped out of the _Day Express_ and into the life of the flyingreporter. He walked slowly from the dining room toward the elevators infull view of the sharp eyes of the newspapermen. They watched theelevator doors close and turned to pool the results.
Dan Watkins shook his head.
"I'm afraid I'm of no help. There's something definitely familiar aboutthe face but I can't place the name. Maybe it will come to me later."
Tim swung around to Ralph. "What about you?"
"I'm just another disappointment and in the same fix as Dan. 'Mr.Seven's' face is familiar but that's as far as it goes. His name isamong the missing."
"If 'Mr. Seven' will only stay around until this air circus is overSunday I'll find out what's behind his mysterious coming to Atkinson,"said Tim, who felt that "Mr. Seven" had challenged his ability as areporter.
On leaving the hotel, they parted, the chief copy reader returning tohis bachelor headquarters and Tim and Ralph going to the _News_building where they hauled out files of the paper and spread theheavily-bound books on their desks.
"We'd better check together," suggested Tim. "Then there will be nochance of our missing a single tip."
For an hour they poured over one volume, scanning each page andwatching with especial care the picture page which was a daily feature.
"I'm too sleepy to go on," said Tim when the city hall clock chimedeleven times. "Being outdoors most of the afternoon working on theplane gave me a yen for bed even though I want to keep on digging intothe file. I might go right on over the very picture I'm looking for."
Ralph picked up a telephone and called the Ransom House, where heascertained from the clerk on duty that Mr G. Seven had indicated hewould be a guest there for at least a week.
Relaying that information on to Tim, Ralph added, "Now you can go tobed tonight and sleep soundly."
They had just finished putting away the files when the door of theeditorial room swung open and a stranger walked in. He was middle aged,with close-cropped, iron-gray hair, piercing blue eyes and large,capable hands.
"I'm looking for Tim Murphy and Ralph Graves, flying reporters of the_News_" he said.
"I'm Murphy," said Tim, "and my companion is Ralph Graves."
"Then I'm fortunate to find you together. My card may give you someidea of what I want."
Tim took the engraved piece of pasteboard and read the following words:"Henry Prentiss, United States Bureau of Narcotics."
"I'm glad to know you, Mr. Prentiss," said Tim, "but I'm afraid yourcard hasn't given me any clue on what you're here for."
"I understand the High Flyers and Ace McDowell are going to put ontheir air circus here Sunday under the auspices of the _News_."
"That's correct, but no announcement has been made yet."
"Then you're likely to have two stories for your paper next Monday, theactual story of the flying circus and the story of the arrest of AceMcDowell as the head of a notorious ring of dope smugglers."