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Ep. 10 - The Girl at the Switchboard · True Tales of The Secret Service

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Chapter ten, The Girl at the switchboard. When you come right down to
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it, mused Bill Quinn. Women came as near to winning the late but
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unlamented war as did any other single factor. The Food administration placarded their statement
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that food will win the war broadcast throughout the country, and that was followed
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by a whole flock of other claimants, particularly after the armistice was signed.
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But there were really only two elements that played a leading role in the final
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victory, men and guns, and women played these to the limit of their
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powerful ability, saving food, buying bonds, doing extra work, wearing a
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smile when their hearts were torn, and going way out of their usual sphere
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in hundreds of cases, and making good impractically every one of them. So
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far as we know, the Allied side presented no analogy to Molly Pitcher or
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the other heroines of past conflicts, for war has made such forward steps that
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personal heroism on the part of women is almost impossible. Of course, we
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had botched Caverre and her regiment of death, not to mention Edith Cavell.
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But the list is not a long one when it is finally completed. However,
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there are a few names which the public hasn't yet heard, which will
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stand well toward the front. For example, there was Virginia Lang. Was
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she the girl at the switchboard that you mentioned in connection with the von Ueled
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case? I interrupted, that's the one, said Quinn. And what's more,
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she played a leading role in that melodrama, a play in which they
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didn't use property, guns or cartridges. Miss Lang continued, Quinn was one
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of the few women I ever heard of that practically solved a Secret Service case
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on her own. Of course, in the past, the different governmental detective
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services have found it to their advantage to go outside the male sex for assistance.
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There have been instances where women in the employ of the Treasury Department rendered
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valuable service in trailing smugglers. The matter of the Dauville diamonds is a case
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in point, and even the Secret Service hasn't been above using women to assist
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in running counterfeiters to Earth. While the archives of the State Department would reveal
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more than one interesting record of feminine cooperation in connection with underground diplomacy, but
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in all these cases, the women were employed to handle the work, and
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they were only doing what they were paid for. While Virginia lang Well in
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the first place. She was one of the girls in charge of the switchboard
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at the Rennock in New York. You know the place, that big apartment
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hotel on Riverside Drive, where the lobby is only a shade less imposing than
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the bellboys, and it costs you a month's salary to speak to the superintendent.
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They never have janitors in a place like that. Virginia herself, I
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came to know her fairly well in the winter of nineteen seventeen, after Dave
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Carroll had gone to the front. Was well qualified by nature to be the
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heroine of any story. Rather above the average in size, she had luckily
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taken advantage of her physique to round out her strength with a gymnasium course.
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But in spite of being a big woman, she had the charm and personality
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which am more often found in those less tall. When you couple this with
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a head of wonderful hair, a practically perfect figure, eyes into which a
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man could look and looking lose himself, lips which would have caused a lipstick
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to blush, and oh what's the use words? Only caricature a beautiful woman?
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And besides, if you haven't gotten the effect already. There is nothing
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that I could tell you that would help any In the spring of nineteen sixteen,
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when the Von Yule Chase was at its height, Miss Lang was employed
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at the Rennock Switchboard, and it speaks well for her character when I can
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tell you that not one of the bachelor tenants ever tried a second time to
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put anything over. Virginia's eyes could snap when they wanted to, and Virginia's
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lips could frame a cutting retort as readily as a pleasant phrase. In a
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place like the Rennock, run as an apartment hotel, the guests changed quite
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frequently, and it was some test to keep track of all of them,
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particularly when there were three girls working in the daytime, though only one was
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on at night. They took it by turns, each one working one week
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in four at night, and the other three holding down the job from eight
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to six. So as it happened, Virginia did not see Dave Carroll until
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he had been there nearly a month. He blew in from Washington early one
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evening and straightway absented himself from the hotel until sometime around seven on the following
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morning. Following the schedule right through every night, did you ever know Carroll?
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He and I worked together on the Farron case out in Saint Louis.
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The one were a bookmaker at the races tipped us off to the biggest counterfeiting
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scheme ever attempted in this country, and after that he took part in a
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number of other affairs, including the one which prevented the Haitian Revolution in nineteen
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thirteen. Dave wasn't what you would call good looking, though he did have
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a way with women. The first night that he came downstairs after a good
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day's sleep and spotted Virginia Lang on the switchboard, he could have been pardoned
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for wandering over and trying to engage her in a conversation, but the only
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rise he got was from her eyebrows. They went up and that I am
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sure I have never met you, manner which is guaranteed to be cold water
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to the most ardent male. And the only reply she vouchsafed was what number
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do you wish you appear to have mine? Dave laughed and then asked for
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twenty eight hundred the private branch which connected with the service headquarters. When he
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came out of the booth, he was careful to confine himself to thank you
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and the payment of his toll. But there was something about him that made
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Virginia Lang feel he was different, a word which with women may mean anything
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or nothing. Then she returned to the reading of her detective story, a
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type of literature to which she was much addicted. Carroll, as you have
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probably surmised, was one of the more than two score government operatives sent to
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New York to work on the Von Yueled case. He was a night shift
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with roving orders to wander around the section in the neighborhood of Columbus Circle and
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stand ready to get anywhere in the upper section of the city in a hurry
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in case anything broke. But beyond reporting to headquarters regularly every hour, the
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assignment was not exactly eventful. The only thing that was known about von Yueld
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at that time was that a person using such a name or alias was in
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charge of the German intrigues against American neutrality. Already nearly a score of bomb
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outrages, attempts to destroy shipping plots, against munition plants, and the like
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had been laid at his door, but the elusive hun had yet to be
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spotted. Indeed, there were many men in the service who doubted the existence
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of such a person, and of these Carol was won. But he shrugged
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his shoulders and stoically determined to bear the monotony of strolling along Broadway and up
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past the Plaza to Fifth Avenue and back again every night, a program which
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was varied only by an occasional seance at rising webbers or papsts, For that
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was in the days before the one half of one percent represented the apotheosis of
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liquid refreshment. It was while he was walking silently along fifty ninth Street on
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the north side, close to the park, a few nights after his brush
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with Virginia Lang, that Carrol caught the first definite information about the case that
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anyone had obtained. He hadn't noted the men until he was almost upon them,
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for the night was dark and the operatives rubber heels made no sound upon
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the pavement. Possibly he wouldn't have noticed them then if it hadn't been for
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a phrase or two have whispered German that floated out through the shrubbery. He
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will stay at Connor's was what reached Carol's ears. That will be our chance,
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A rare opportunity to strike two blows at once, one at our enemy
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and the other at this smug, self satisfied nation which is content to make
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money out of the slaughter of Germany's suns. Once he is in the hotel,
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the rest will be easy, how inquired a second voice, A bomb
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so arranged to explode with the slightest additional pressure In a careful growled a third
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man eight fifty nine would hardly care to have his plan spread all over New
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York. This cursed shrubbery is so dense that there is no telling who may
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be near. Come and Carol, crouched on the outside of the fence which
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separates the street from the park, knew that seconds were precious if he was
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to get any further information. A quick glance down the street showed him that
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the nearest gate was too far away to permit of entrance in that manner,
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So, slipping his automatic into the side pocket of his coat, he leaped
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upward and grasped the top of the iron fence on the other side. He
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could hear the quick scuffle of feet as the Germans, alarmed, began to
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retreat rapidly. A quick upward heave a purchase with his feet, and he
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was over his revolver in his hand the instant he lighted on the other side.
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Halt, he called more from force of habit than from anything else,
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for he had no idea that any of the trio would stop, but evidently
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one of them did, for from behind the shelter of a nearby bush came
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the quick spat of a revolver and a tongue of flame shot toward him.
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The bullet, however, sung harmlessly passed, and he replied with a few
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sillade of shots that ripped through the bush and brought a shower of German curses
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from the other side. Then another of the conspirators opened fire from a point
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at right angles to the first, and the ruse was successful, for it
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diverted Carol's attention long enough to permit the escape of the first man, and
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the operative was still flat on the ground, edging his way cautiously forward when
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the park police arrived, the vanguard of a curious crowd attracted by the shots.
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What's the trouble, demanded the Sparrow cop. None at all, replied
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Dave, as he slipped the still warm revolver into his pocket and brushed some
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dirt from his sleeve. Guy tried to hold me up, that's all,
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and I took a potshot at him. Cut it secret service, and he
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cautiously flashed his badge in the light of the electric torch which the park policeman
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held. Huh, grunted the guard as he made his way to the bush
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from behind which had been attacked. You evidently winged him. There's blood on
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the grass here, but no sign of the bird himself. Want any report
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to headquarters, he added in an undertone. Not a word, said Carroll.
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I'm working this end of the game, and I want to finish it
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without assistance. It's the only thing that's happened in a month to break the
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monotony, and there's no use declaring anyone else in on it. By the
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way, do you know of any place in town known as Connors? Connors?
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Never heard of it. Sounds as though it might be a dive in
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the Bowery. Plenty of queer places down there. No, it's hardly likely
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to be in that section of the city, Dave stated, farther uptown.
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I think, but it's a new one on me. On me too,
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agreed the guard, And I thought I knew the town like a book.
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When he reported to headquarters a few moments later, Carol told the Chief over
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the wire of his brush with the trio of Germans, as well as what
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he had heard. There was more than a quiver of excitement in the voice
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from the other end of the wire, for this was the first actual proof
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of the existence of the mysterious number eight fifty nine. Still believe von Yuld
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is a myth, inquired the Chief. Well, I wouldn't go so far
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as to say that was the answer, because the bullet that just missed me
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was pretty material. Evidently some one is planning these bomb outrages, and it's
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up to us to nab him, if only for the sake of the service.
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Did you catch the name of the man to whom your friends were alluding,
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asked the Chief. No, they just referred to him as he.
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That might mean any one of a number of people, mused the Chief.
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Sir. Cecil spring Rice is in town, you know, stopping at the
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Waldorf. Then there's the head of the French mission at the Vanderbilt with a
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bunch of people, and Lord Wimbledon, who spent five million dollars for horses
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in the west, stopping at the same place you are. You might keep
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an eye on him, and I'll send Kramer and Fleming up to trail the
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other two. Did you ever hear of the place they called Connor's Chief?
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No, but that doesn't mean anything. It may be a code word,
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a prearranged name to camouflage the hotel in the event any one were listening in,
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possibly, replied Carroll, just before you hung up. But somehow I
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have a hunch that it wasn't. I'll get back on the job and let
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you know if anything further develops. His adventure for the night appeared to have
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ended, for he climbed into bed the following morning without having been disturbed,
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but lay awake for an hour or more, obsessed with the idea that he
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really held the clue to the whole affair, but unable to figure out just
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what it was. Where was it that they intended to place the bomb,
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Why would they arrange it so as to explode upon pressure rather than concussion or
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by time fuse? Where was Connors? Who was the man they were plotting
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against. These were some of the questions which raced through his brain, and
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he awoke in the late afternoon still haunted by the thought that he really ought
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to know more than he did. That night, at dinner, he noted,
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almost subconsciously that he was served by a new waiter, a fact that
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rather annoyed him because he had been particularly pleased at the service rendered by the
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other man. Where's Felix, he inquired, as the new attendant brought his
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soup. He isn't in tonight, sir, was the reply. He had
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an accident and won't be here for a couple of days. An accident,
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yes, sir, was the laconic answer. Anything serious, No, sir,
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he hurt his hand, and the waiter disappeared without another word. Carol
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thought nothing more of it at the time, but later, over his coffee
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and a good cigar, a sudden idea struck him. Could it be that
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Felix was one of the men whom he had surprised the night before, the
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one he had fired at and hit. No, that was too much of
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a coincidence, But then Felix was manifestly of foreign origin, and while he
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claimed to be Swiss, there was a distinct Teutonic rasp to his words.
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Upon occasion, signaling to his waiter, Dave inquired whether he knew where Felix
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lived. I'd like to know if there is anything that I can do for
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him, he gave as his reason for asking. I haven't the slightest idea
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came the answer, and Carol was aware that the man was lying, for
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his demeanor was sullen rather than subservient, and the customary sir was noticeable by
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its absence. Once in the lobby, Dave noticed that their pretty telephone operator
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was again at the switchboard, and the idea occurred to him that he might
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find out Felix's address from the hotel manager or head waiter. I understand that
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my waiter has been hurt in an accident, the operative explained to the Goddess
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of the wires, and I'd like to find out where he lives. Who
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would be likely to know? The head waiter ought to be able to tell
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you, was the reply, accompanied by the flash of what Carol swore to
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be the whitest teeth he had ever seen. Just a moment, and I
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will get him on the wire for you. Then, after a pause,
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booth number five please, But Carol got no satisfaction from that source either.
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The head waiter maintained that he knew nothing of Felix's whereabouts and hung up the
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receiver in a manner which was distinctly final, not to say impolite. The
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very air of mystery that surrounded the missing man was sufficient to incline him to
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the belief that, after all, there might be something to the idea that
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Felix was the man he had shot at the night before. In that event,
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it was practically certain that Lord Wimbledon was the object of the German's attention,
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but that didn't solve the question of where the bomb was to be placed,
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nor the location of Connors. Just the same, he muttered, half
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aloud, I'm going to stick around here to night. Why that momentous decision?
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Came a voice almost at his elbow, a voice which startled and charmed
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him with its inflection. Looking up, he caught the eyes of the pretty
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telephone girl laughing at him. Talking to yourself is a bad habit, she
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warned him, with a smile which seemed to hold an apology for her brusqueness
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of the night before. Particularly in your business, my business, echoed Dave.
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What do you know about that? Not a thing in the world except
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and here her voice dropped to a whisper, except that you are a government
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detective and that you've discovered something about Lord Wimbledon, probably some plot against his
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lordship. Where how what in the world made you think that, stammered Carol,
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almost gasping for breath. Very simple, replied the girl. Quite elementary,
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as Sherlock Holmes used to say. You called the headquarter number every night
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when you came down. The other girls tip me off to that, for
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they know that I'm fond of detective stories. Then everybody around here knows that
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Felix, the waiter that you inquired about, is really German, though he
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pretends to be Swiss, and that he, the head waiter, and the
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pastry cook are thickest thieves. You'd hardly expect me to say yes, would
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you, particularly as I'm supposed to be a government operative. Now I know
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you are, smiled the girl. Very few people use the word operative.
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They'd say detective or agent. But don't worry, I won't give you away.
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Please don't, laughed Carroll, half banteringly, half in earnest, for
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it would never do to have it leak out that a girl had not only
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discovered his identity but his mission then as an afterthought, do you happen to
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know of any hotel or place here in town known as Connors? He asked
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why? Of course, was the reply amazing in its directness the manager's name.
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But then she halted abruptly, picking up a plug and said what number
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please into the receiver. Carol sensed that there was a reason for her stopping
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in the middle of her sentence, and looking around, found the pussy footed
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head waiter beside him, apparently waiting for a call. Silently damning the custom
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that made it obligatory for waiters to move without making a sound, Carol wandered
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off across the lobby, determined to take a stroll around the block before settling
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down to his night's vigil. A stop at the information desk, however,
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rewarded him with the news that Lord Wimbledon was giving a dinner in his apartments
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the following evening to the British ambassador that, being all the hotel knew officially
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about his grace's movements, I'll take care to have half a dozen extra men
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in the job, Carol assured himself, for that's undoubtedly the time they would
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pick if they could get away with it. A single bomb then would do
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a pretty bit of damage. The evening brought no further developments, but shortly
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after midnight he determined to call the Rennick in the hope that the pretty telephone
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girl was still on duty and that she might finish telling him what she knew
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of Connors Hotel. Rennick. Came a voice which he recognized instantly. This
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is Dave Carroll speaking, said the operative. Can you tell me now what
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it was you started to say about Connors? Not now? Came the whispered
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reply, Then in a louder voice, just a moment, please, and
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I'll see if he's registered. During the pause which followed, Dave realized that
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the girl must be aware that she was watched by someone. Was it the
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silent moving head waiter? No, he hasn't arrived yet, was the next
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phrase that came over the wires, clearly and distinctly, followed by instructions couched
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in a much lower tone, meet me drive entrance one five Shore, and
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then a click as the plug was withdrawn. It was precisely five minutes past
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one when Carroll paused in front of the riverside drive doorway to the Rennock,
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considering it the part of discretion to keep on the opposite side of the driveway.
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A moment later, a woman alone left the hotel, glanced around quickly,
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and then crossed to where he was standing. Follow me up the street,
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she directed in an undertone as she passed. Michael has been watching like
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a hawk. Dave knew that Michael was the head waiter, and out of
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the corner of his eye he saw a shadow slip out of another of the
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hotel doorways farther down the drive and start toward them. But when he looked
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around a couple of blocks farther up the drive, there was no one behind
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them. Why all the mystery, he inquired as he stepped alongside the girl.
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Something's afoot in the Renneck, she replied, and they think I suspect
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what it is and have told you about it. Michael hasn't taken his eyes
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off me all evening. I heard him boast one night that he could read
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lips, so I didn't dare tell you anything when you called up, even
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though he was across the lobby. Connors, the place you asked about is
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the Renneck? Spell it backward. Connor is the manager, hence the name
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of the hotel, then said Carol. That means that they've got a plan
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underway to bomb Lord Wimbledon and probably the British Ambassador at that dinner tomorrow evening.
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I overheard one of them say last night that a bomb arranged to explode
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at the slightest pressure would be placed in the and then he stopped in the
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cake gasped the girl as if by intuition, but her next words showed that
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her deduction had a more solid foundation. This is to be a birthday dinner
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in honor of Lord Percy, somebody who's in Lord Wimbledon's party, as well
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as in honor of Lord Cecil. The pastry cook, who's almost certainly mixed
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up in the plot, has plenty of opportunity to put the bomb there where
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it would never be suspected. The instant they cut the cake, but her
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voice trailed off in mid air as something solid came down on her head with
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a crash. At the same moment, Dave was sent reeling by a blow
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from a blackjack, a blow which sent him spinning across the curb and into
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the street. He was dimly aware that two men were leaping toward him,
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and that the third was attacking the telephone girl, panting, gasping, fighting
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for time in which to clear his head of the effects of the first blow,
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Carroll fought cautiously but desperately, realizing that his opponents desired to avoid gun
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play for fear of attracting the police. A straight left to the jaw caught
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one of the men coming in and knocked him sprawling, but the second,
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whom Carroll recognized as Michael, was more wary. He dodged and fainted with
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the skill of a professional boxer, and then launched an upper cut which went
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home on the point of Dave's jaw. It was at that moment that the
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operative became aware of another participant in the fray, a figure in white with
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what appeared to be a halo of gold around her head. The thought flashed
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through his mind that he must be dreaming, but he had sense enough left
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to leap aside when a feminine voice called look out, and the arc light
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glinted off the blade of a knife as it passed perilously close to his ribs.
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Then the figure in white brought something down on Michael's head, and wheeling
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seized the wrist of the third man in a grip of iron ten seconds later,
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the entire trio was helpless and Carol was blowing a police whistle for assistance.
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There was really nothing to it at all, protested telephone Girl. During
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the ride in the patrol, they made the mistake of trying to let Felix,
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with his wounded hand, take care of me. I didn't have two
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years of gym work and a complete course in jiu jitsu for nothing, and
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that blackjack came in mighty handy A moment or two later. All Felix succeeded
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in doing was to knock my hat off and I shed my coat the instant
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I had attended to him. That's why I thought you were a goddess,
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and White murmured Dave. No goddess at all, just a girl from the
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switchboard who was glad to have a chance at the brutes. Anyhow, that
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few minutes beats any book I have read for action. Dave's hand stole out
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in the darkness as they jolted forward, and when it found what it was
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seeking, girl, he said, do you realize that I don't even know
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your name, Lang, said a voice in the dark. My friends call
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me Virginia. After what you just did for me. I think we ought
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to be at least good friends, laughed Carol, and the thrill of the
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fight which had just passed was as nothing when she answered, at least that
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Dave. Quinn paused for a moment to repack his pipe, and I took
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advantage of the interruption to ask what happened at the Wimbledon dinner the following night.
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Not a thing in the world, replied Quinn. Everything went off like
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clockwork, everything but the bomb. As the Poe Dunk Gazette would say,
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a very pleasant time was had by all. But you may be sure that
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they were careful to examine the cake and the other dishes before they were sampled
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by the guests. Michael, Felix and the cook were treated to a good
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dose of the third degree at headquarters, but without results. They wouldn't even
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admit that they knew any such person as number eight fifty nine or Von Yueled.
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Two of them got off with light sentences for assault and battery. The
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pastry cook, however, went to the pen when they found a quantity of
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high explosives in his room, and miss Lang. If you care to look
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up the marriage licenses for October nineteen sixteen, you'll find that one was issued
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in the names of David Carroll and Virginia Lang. She's the wife of a
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captain now for Dave left the service the following year and went to France to
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finish his fight with the hun. I saw him not long ago, and
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the only thing that's worrying him is where he is going to find his quota
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of excitement. For he says that there is nothing left in the service but
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chasing counterfeiters and guarding the president. And he can't stand the idea of staying
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in the army and drawing his pay for wearing a uniform. End of Chapter ten.