CHAPTER XX
SOMETHING DOING AT THE STANLEYS'
Chapman drove the automobile down into Harrimay only ten minuteslater. It was a pretty but rather somnolent place, just a string ofwhite-painted, green-blinded houses and two or three stores along bothsides of an oiled highway. It was a long ten-minute jitney ride fromthe railway station.
"Perkins, Real Estate" faced the travelers from a signboard as theydrove into the village. Chapman stopped before the office door, andthe eager Jessie hopped out.
"I'm coming, too! I'm coming, too!" squealed Amy, running across thewalk after her.
"Do be quiet," begged her chum. "And for once let me do the talking."
"Oui, oui, Mademoiselle! As I haven't the least idea what the topic ofthe conversation will be, I can easily promise that," whispered Amy.
A high-collared man with eyeglasses and an ingratiating smile arosefrom behind a flat-topped desk facing the door and rubbed his hands ashe addressed the two girls.
"What can I do for you, young ladies?"
"Why, why----Oh, I want to ask you--" Jessie stammered. "Do you knowwho owns the farm over there by the track? The Gandy place?"
"The old Gandy stock farm, Miss?" asked the real estate man with adistinct lowering of tone. "It is not in the market. The Gandy placenever has been in the market."
"I just wish to know who owns it," repeated Jessie, while Amy stared.
"The Gandys still own it. At least old man Gandy's daughter is inpossession I believe. Horse people, all of them. This woman----"
"Please tell me her name?"
"Poole, Martha Poole, is her name."
"Oh!" cried Amy, seeing now what Jessie wanted.
But Jessie shook her head at her chum warningly, and asked the man:
"Do you know if Mrs. Poole is at the place now?"
"Couldn't say. She comes and goes. She is always there when the racingis going on. It is supposed that some things that go on there at theGandy place are not entirely regular," said the real estate manstiffly. "If you are a friend of Mrs. Poole----"
"I am Jessie Norwood. My father, Mr. Robert Norwood, is a lawyer, andwe live in the Roselawn section of New Melford."
"Oh, ah, indeed!" murmured the real estate man. "Then I guess it issafe to tell you that the people around here do not approve of Mrs.Poole and what goes on at the Gandy place during the racing season. Itis whispered that people there are interested in pool rooms in thecity. You know, where betting on the races is conducted."
"I do not know anything about that," replied Jessie, in someexcitement. "But I thank you for telling me about Martha Poole."
She seized Amy by the arm and hurried back to the automobile.
"What do you think of that?" gasped Amy, quite as much amazed as washer chum.
"I do wish Daddy was coming home to-day. But he isn't. Not untildinner time, anyway. I do believe, Amy Drew, that poor Bertha ishidden away somewhere at that farm."
"But--but----how could she get at any sending station to tell hertroubles to--to the air?" and Amy suddenly giggled.
"Don't laugh. It is a very serious matter, I feel sure. If the poorgirl actually isn't being abused, those women are hiding her away sothat they can cheat Daddy's clients out of a lot of money."
"Again I ask," repeated Amy, more earnestly, "_how_ could that girl,whoever she is, get to a sending station? We did not see the firstsign of an aerial anywhere near that house and barn, or above thetower, either."
"I don't know what it means. It is a mystery," confessed Jessie. "ButI just _feel_ that what we heard over the radio had to do with thatmissing girl--that it was Bertha Blair calling for help, and that insome way she is connected with that red barn and the silo and the twofallen trees. We traced the place from her description."
"So we did!"
"And unless it is all a big hoax, somewhere near that place Bertha isheld a prisoner. If that Martha Poole is in with some crooked peoplewho break the state gambling law by radio, sending news of the racesto city gambling rooms, she would commit other things against thelaw."
"Oh!" cried Amy. "Both she and that Mrs. Bothwell look like hardcharacters. But there were no aerials in sight!"
Jessie thought for a moment. Then she flashed at her chum:
"Well, that might be, too. Some people string their aerials indoors. Idon't know if that can be done at a sending station. But it may be.They are inventing new things about radio all the time. You know that,dear."
"I know it," agreed Amy.
"And if that broadcasting station up there at the Gandy farm is usedfor the sending of private racing information, in all probability thepeople who set it up would want to keep it secret."
"I see! So they would."
"It is not registered, you can make up your mind. And as it is onlyused much when the racing season is on at the Harrimay track, theGovernment has probably given it little attention."
"Could they find it, do you think, Jessie?" asked her chum.
"I have read that the Government has wonderful means of locating any'squeak-box', as they call it, that is not registered and whichlitters up the airways with either unimportant or absolutely evilcommunications. These methods of tracing unregistered sending stationswere discovered during the war and were proved thoroughly before theGovernment allowed any small stations to be established since."
"Do you suppose the police knew that that woman was sending racingnews to gambling rooms from up there at her farm?"
"We don't know that she is. Mr. Perkins was only repeating gossip. Andwe did not see aerials up there."
"But you say that maybe they could have rigging for the stationwithout any aerials in the open?"
"It might be. I am all confused. There certainly is a mystery aboutit, and Daddy Norwood ought to know at once. Oh, Chapman! That wasthunder. We must hurry home."
"Yes, Miss Jessie," said the chauffeur, looking up at the clouds thathad been gathering. "I think I can get you home before it rains."
He increased the speed of the car. They had circled around by anotherway than the Parkville road, and they came through the edge of NewMelford. When the automobile shot into Bonwit Boulevard and headedtoward Roselawn the first flash of lightning made the girls jump.
Chapman stepped on the accelerator and the car shot up the oiled way.The thunder seemed to explode right overhead. Before the first pealrolled away there was another sharp flash. Although the rain stillheld off, the tempest was near.
"Oh!" gasped Jessie, covering her eyes.
"There's the church," said Amy. "We'll soon be home now."
Even as she spoke another crackling stroke burst overhead. The greenglare of it almost blinded them. The thunder shook the air. Jessiescreamed.
"See! See! Look at the parsonage!" she cried in Amy's ear.
"Why, the boys must have already strung their wires and got a radioset established," said Amy.
"Look at the window--that attic window!" Jessie exclaimed. "Don't yousee what I see, Amy Drew?"
"It's smoke!" said the other girl, amazed.
"The house is afire! In the attic! That lightning must have struckthere. It must have been led in by the wires, just as Momsy feared."
"Then the boys never closed their switch!" cried Amy. "Oh! I wonder ifDoctor Stanley or Nell knows that the house is on fire?"
A GREAT TO-DO
SILK
DARRY'S BIG IDEA
The Campfire Girls of Roselawn; Or, a Strange Message from the Air Page 20