CHAPTER XIII
A MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE
THERE was a slight accident on the trolley line that night, when Tom was going home. A truck got stalled on the track, and it was nearly midnight when he got to the house, where he found his mother anxiously waiting for him.
“You poor boy!” she exclaimed. “Where have you been? Did you have your supper?”
“Oh, yes. When I found the trolleys were blocked I got out of the car, which happened to be near a small restaurant, and I had a nice little meal. I had to go to Dr. Spidderkins’ house for Mr. Boise.”
“I think you have a good deal of night work to do, Tom.”
“Well, I’m the youngest member of the firm,” replied her son jokingly. “I’ve got to do the hard work until I rise in my profession.”
Tom fell asleep vainly wondering whether or not he had better mention to Mr. Boise the suspicions he had concerning Barton Sandow and his wife. But, in the morning, he decided he had better not interfere with what did not concern him.
“I’ll wait until I have some better proof, before I say anything,” he thought. “Maybe I’m making a mountain out of a mole-hill.”
For a week or more events went along smoothly at the law office where Tom was employed. He was getting to be quite expert at the switchboard, and seldom made a mistake.
Try as he did, however, he could not seem to please Mr. Cutler. That lawyer was continually finding fault, even when Tom got for him the required connections in almost record-breaking time.
“You’re worse than the other boy we had!” exclaimed the junior member one day, when Tom had cut him off a second or two before he was through. Then Mr. Cutler strode into the room occupied by Mr. Boise. As he left the door partly open Tom could not help hearing part of what was said.
“Why don’t you discharge that boy and hire a good one?” asked the junior partner, wrathfully.
“What boy?” asked Mr. Boise, who had a habit of becoming so deeply immersed in thinking of a case, that often questions had to be repeated several times.
“That telephone boy—Tom Baldwin. He’s more bother than he’s worth.”
“Why, I thought he was doing good work. I have no trouble getting my connections. What seems to be the difficulty?”
“Well—er—I don’t know exactly—but he doesn’t seem to be up to the mark. I think we ought to have another boy.”
“I am sorry I can’t agree with you, Mr. Cutler,” Tom heard Mr. Boise say. “Mr. Keen engaged Tom, and he spoke well of his qualifications. The boy has a mother and an aged aunt partly dependent on him, and he was out of work for some time before coming to us. He learned how to work a switchboard, hoping to get a place, and now he has one I don’t feel we should discharge him—especially when there is no good cause for it.”
“Well, I only mentioned it,” said Mr. Cutler, rather weakly. “Perhaps he’ll do all right, but he makes mistakes.”
“So we all do,” remarked Mr. Boise. “I think Tom will be all right.”
Then the door was closed, and Tom could hear no more. But what he had heard told him two things, one of which he knew before. He was made aware that Mr. Boise was very friendly to him, and he realized that Mr. Cutler had some grudge against him, though what it could be our hero could not imagine.
“It can’t be about the telephone calls,” reasoned the lad, “for I haven’t made but one error on his wire in nearly a week, and that was a small one—cutting him off. He was through, anyhow, for the party on the other end of the wire had said ‘good-by.’ But I’m glad Mr. Boise stuck up for me.”
That afternoon, toward the close of the day’s business, as Tom was sitting in front of the switchboard, idly wondering where the next call would come from, one of the black drops fell. He plugged in a wire, and asked:
“Whom did you wish to speak to?”
Back came the answer, in a voice that startled Tom, for he knew he had heard it somewhere before:
“Is Mr. Cutler in?”
“I’ll connect you with him. Hold the wire,” directed Tom, and he made doubly sure that he put the right plug in the right hole, so that the person could speak to the junior partner.
As soon as this connection was made there came another call, for Mr. Boise. The head of the firm was soon conversing with a client, and then a third drop fell.
“Well, the day is going to wind up with a rush,” thought Tom. “Whom did you wish?” he asked politely.
“I want to talk to Mr. Cutler,” spoke a woman’s voice.
“He is busy now. If you will hold the wire, I’ll let you speak to him as soon as he has finished.”
“Very well. Don’t forget it. It’s very important.”
“I’ll not. Just hold the wire.”
Then, as was his custom, when a party was waiting for one of the law-firm members who was already engaged on the wire, Tom depressed the cam which enabled him to hear whether Mr. Cutler and the speaker whose voice had so startled the boy, were finished. Tom, as he “cut in” heard Mr. Cutler saying:
“Yes, yes, I’ll attend to it for you. The plan ought to work, but you’ve got to be careful.”
Then, before he shut off the connection through his own instrument, he heard the man on the other end of the wire say:
“I’ve got the papers all right. The forgetful old dotard left them in his study, and my wife heard him and the boy talking about them. I’ve got ’em all right, and he’ll never remember anything about them. I guess they ought to be worth something, eh?”
“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Cutler replied. “The estate is a big one, and there’s no reason why you and I shouldn’t have a share. I guess we can work it without any one knowing anything about it. I’ll call you up in a few days Mr.——”
“No names!” cautioned the other quickly.
“All right,” answered Mr. Cutler with a laugh. “I understand. Good-by.”
Tom knew that the conversation was finished, and that he could give the waiting lady the junior partner on the wire. But he hesitated a moment before pulling out the plugs, and readjusting them.
“I’ve heard that man’s voice before,” he mused. “I know it well. Who can it be?”
Then there came over the wire the voice of the man in question. It seemed that he had forgotten something, though Mr. Cutler was busy talking to the lady.
“Hello! Hello!” he called. “I say! I forgot something. Wait a moment, Mr. Cutler!”
“Mr. Cutler is busy on another wire,” replied Tom. “If you wait I can get him back for you?”
“Who is this speaking?” asked the man’s voice, and there seemed to be a note of fear in it.
“This is the private exchange operator.”
“I know that, but who are you? What’s your name?”
“Tom Baldwin. Do you wish me to get Mr. Cutler on the wire for you?”
“No!” came the sudden answer.
“No!” came the sudden answer, and the man hung up his receiver with a bang that made a loud click in Tom’s ear.
Then, like a flash there came to our hero the recognition of the voice.
“That was Barton Sandow speaking!” he exclaimed softly. “I’m pretty sure it was, and I believe he was talking about that Spidderkins estate and those papers I took to the doctor!”