Who Was That Masked Man, Anyway?

  “You don’t know any of that.”

  “So what? Everything would be better that way, wouldn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Well, that’s what kids can do. Mario, look, what I’m saying — about Mr. Swerdlow — is that if it turns out to be true and you did nothing, you’d hate yourself. Wouldn’t you? Admit it.”

  “Well …”

  “People would be saying, ‘There goes Mario Calvino, who could have saved the world but didn’t want to.’ So instead, no one’s alive because you turned soft. That what you want all those dead people saying? Or would you rather have them say, ‘Ta-da! Here comes Mario Calvino. He was only a kid, but he saw the truth and, against all odds, saved us.’ Your ma would be so proud of you, wouldn’t she? Admit it.”

  “I know, but —”

  “Mario, we can do it!”

  “Well, maybe. But only if you don’t tell my mother till after we save the world.”

  “Wattleson?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Here’s your morning mail, kiddo.”

  “Thanks…. Great Scott, Skipper! A letter from Miss Gomez.”

  “For you?”

  “My parents.”

  “Think it’s bad news?”

  “Hope so.”

  “Boy, if she wrote my mother …”

  “When did you say your mother’s coming home?”

  “Another hour.”

  “Skipper, when you intercept a secret message — in an envelope — there’s only one thing to do: steam it open.”

  “Frankie …”

  “Don’t worry, Skipper. The Sky King Junior Spy Manual explains it all.”

  “GEE, I never thought steaming really worked.”

  “Sky King doesn’t lie. The letter open, Chet Barker reads it quickly. Oh, swell!”

  “What’s it say?”

  “ ‘Dear Mr. and Mrs. Wattleson: As you may know, I am Franklin’s sixth grade teacher at Public School Number Eight. While he is a pleasant child and, in his way, harmless, I am afraid that there have been serious problems regarding both his behavior and performance in school this term. I am truly concerned about him. I feel we must sit down and talk. May I call upon you both at your home this coming Thursday evening at seven? Sincerely, Esmeralda Gomez.’ ”

  “Frankie, you are in big trouble.”

  “No, I’m not. She is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mario, don’t you get anything? See, she thinks I’m pleasant and harmless. That’s just what I wanted her to think. The mask worked. She doesn’t know my secret identity. Crash of thunder. Burst of lightning. Da-dum! This is a job for — Chet Barker!”

  “MA …”

  “Mmm …”

  “I forgot to tell you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “At school yesterday, my teacher — Miss Gomez — said to tell our parents that there’s a special meeting at school Thursday evening. All parents have to attend.”

  “What kind of meeting?”

  “I just said. For parents.”

  “I was asking you why.”

  “They want to draft all sixth graders into the navy.”

  “What?”

  “It’s for a new fleet of midget submarines. Grown-ups can’t fit into them. So they have to use kids.”

  “Frankie, you give me a headache. Just tell me what it is.”

  “It’s about what class I’m supposed to be in next year.”

  “They never used to hold such meetings.”

  “It’s part of the war effort. Saves paper.”

  “When is it?”

  “Next Thursday. Seven o’clock. And if all the parents come, every kid in the class gets a Popsicle, Fudgsicle, or Creamsicle, those delicious frozen confections on a stick.”

  “A Fudgsicle?”

  “Well, they do taste good and wholesome and nourishing. And they’re made fresh every day of the finest ingredients. The biggest five cents’ worth anywhere! So Pop has to go too.”

  “I think Mr. Giorgi needs him. He’ll be working.”

  “Will you go?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell Miss Gomez yes.”

  “SAY, SKIPPER, things are really starting to fall into place. You say, ‘Let’s hear the scoop.’ ”

  “Let’s hear the scoop.”

  “Skipper, I’ve devised a plan that gets my parents out of the house at the precise moment Miss Gomez visits.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “Told them there was an urgent meeting at school for parents.”

  “Who’s going to be at your house, then?”

  “Tom.”

  “You going to tell him?”

  “Skipper, that’s the whole point. It goes this way: My parents are going to be out. Meanwhile, back at the homestead, the young and pretty Miss Esmeralda Gomez, lovely daughter of a wealthy rancher, comes to the door. It’s night. A quick, tropic twilight slides its way over the city. Miss Gomez knocks on the door. Tap, tap. Sound echoes through the old mansion. Mice scurry away. The only one who can answer is handsome young Tom, recently wounded in glorious battle. Reluctantly but painfully, he hobbles to the door. He opens it. The hinges creak. To his surprise it’s Miss Gomez, whom he forgets to recognize as the lovely daughter of a wealthy rancher. Well, Skipper, these two healthy young people look at each other. They stare into each other’s eyes. For the moment Tom’s pain is forgotten. Miss Gomez loses her mind too. Their hearts melt. Zing!”

  “Zing what?”

  “Skipper, it’s a story as old as the world. And just as new. They fall in love.”

  “Wow….”

  “Sure. And get married. That’s the way it happens.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re always saying Tom just stays in his room and won’t see anyone. What if he won’t go to the door?”

  “He will.”

  “How come?”

  “I’ll figure something.”

  “Or … yeah, what if it’s Mr. Swerdlow who answers the door and Miss Gomez falls in love with him?”

  “Skipper, did you ever, ever once hear of a beautiful woman who fell in love with an evil scientist?”

  “Frankie, she doesn’t know he’s evil! Admit it. You didn’t think of that.”

  “Okay, we’ll have to make sure Doc Swerdlow is already gone.”

  “How we going to do that?”

  “I’ll think of something. Anyway, with him gone, it’ll make it easier for the young married couple to move into that room.”

  “Think they’ll get married that fast?”

  “Before the end of the term.”

  “What about getting the radio for yourself?”

  “Skipper, Chet Barker expects no reward but the love of his grateful countrymen.”

  “None?”

  “Well, a radio would be nice.”

  “Conklin’s Corn Cracks presents the ‘Adventures of the Silver Fox’!

  “By day Jim Buck drives a taxi through the city streets. By night he dons the cape and mask of the Silver Fox. With his devoted companion, Benny O’Toole, crackerjack schoolboy mechanic, he tracks down and brings to justice those public enemies who might otherwise outrun the reaches of the law!

  “In just a minute we’ll begin today’s adventure.”

  “Say, boys and girls, do you know what it is to get up in the morning feeling stiff and tired, with not much get up and go? Of course you do. It happens to us all. But I know you want to get to school alert, full of vigor and vim, so you can be a tip-top student! Well, kids, Conklin’s Corn Cracks will give you all the energy you need and then some. Smothered with bits of fresh fruit, showered with good-for-you wholesome milk, a breakfast of Conklin’s Corn Cracks will start you off right. And it tastes so super-delicious too, with a rich corn taste that you’ll just love. So tell your mom and dad you want to do the very best you can, and a breakfast of Conklin’s Corn Cracks will help you do just that. Tomorrow morning
, then, start your day the Conklin’s Corn Cracks way!

  “And now, for today’s story, which is called Can the Dead Talk?”

  “It is night, and the great city is deserted. But a sinister hooded figure is moving backward along the streets and alleys. In his hands he’s holding a spool, and from it he’s carefully playing out a thin wire and laying it carefully against the shadows.”

  “Just a few more blocks and this will be set, and then, Mr. Clayton Adams …”

  “The hooded figure reaches his destination but not the end of his mission. Still trailing the wire, he silently makes his way up the fire escape. Just outside the window of Apartment Five-C, he sets down a tiny but powerful speaker and carefully fastens his wire to it. When he is certain all the proper connections have been made, he chuckles to himself.”

  “Okay, Mr. Clayton Adams, let’s see how you deal with strange voices coming from nowhere.”

  “Laughing silently, the hooded figure scurries away as unnoticed as when he came.

  “It’s two days later, and we’re in the secret garage beneath the city apartment where Jim Buck lives. He’s with his youthful assistant, Benny O’Toole, who not only serves as his crackerjack mechanic, but is the one person who knows the true identity of the Silver Fox.”

  “You’re looking worried, Jim.”

  “I am, Benny. My friend Clayton Adams died yesterday.”

  “The ace newspaper reporter?”

  “That’s him. He was hot on the heels of a dangerous spy ring. The newspapers say he committed suicide, driven insane by strange voices.”

  “Yeah. I read about that. Rotten bad.”

  “But committing suicide is not the kind of thing Clayton would do.”

  “It sure seems odd. Strange voices …”

  “Yes, I suspect some diabolically clever men are behind this.”

  “Sounds like work for the Silver Fox.”

  “That’s just what I thought. Is the Rocket Motorcycle ready?”

  “Sure as shamrocks, boss. Where you headed?”

  “I’ve got a hunch that might just yield something.”

  “A clue?”

  “Maybe. It seems that shortly before Clayton died he sent a letter to the district attorney. At least that’s what his mother said. The DA never got it.”

  “Sounds suspicious.”

  “Yes, I think I’ll check it out.”

  “Good luck!”

  “Benny steps back and throws a switch. A secret door swings open. Jim Buck, now garbed in the distinctive silver jacket and mask of the Silver Fox, leaps upon the white Rocket Motorcycle. A push of a button and its motors are activated. Then, with a silent roar, the Rocket Motorcycle leaps up a ramp and hurtles onto the dark streets of the great city. The Silver Fox is on the scent!”

  “MARIO!”

  “What?”

  “I figured a way to get rid of Mr. Swerdlow.”

  “How?”

  “The Atomic Radio Remote Relay!”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Skipper, with your scientific genius, along with my courage and daring, there’s nothing we can’t do. You say, ‘Easy as aces, Chet.’ ”

  “Easy as aces, Chet. Just say it, Frankie.”

  “Skipper, what we’re going to do is hide that Atomic Radio Remote Relay speaker in Mr. Swerdlow’s skull.”

  “His head?”

  “The one in that package. Then we’ll run the wire down to my basement place. When he’s in his room, we make strange, ghostlike noises. He’ll believe the room is haunted. Crooks are always superstitious. By gumption, Skipper, he’ll be gone in nothing flat.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I’m not going into his room again.”

  “Mario, this is my best idea, ever!”

  “We always get caught.”

  “Mario, if kids like us — fun-loving, loyal Americans — don’t fight the sinister hand of crime and subversion whene’er it rears its ugly head, who’s going to do it?”

  “Not me.”

  “Make a deal…. If you help me with this, I’ll give you my Silver Fox Decoder Badge and my Captain Midnight Ovaltine Mug.”

  “No.”

  “What about if I threw in my Lone Ranger Emergency Whistle Ring?”

  “Well …”

  “Honest.”

  “Decoder Badge, Ovaltine Mug, and Whistle Ring?”

  “Once we get the speaker into the skull.”

  “Is the other end going to be in your house or mine?”

  “Mine. In the basement.”

  “And you’ll really give me that stuff?”

  “I’ll even add my Green Llama Junior G-man Manual.”

  “Okay.”

  “I hear you, Skipper. I hear you loud and clear. Come on.”

  “AS WE join our friends, it’s long past midnight. Chet Barker and his faithful sidekick, Skipper, have just flown over from England. Under cover of darkness they parachute down from a B-17. The air is fierce. Leaves are frozen, and clouds have thickened. The moon is the color of fear. An owl hoots. You say, ‘Chet, I’ve snuck up ahead to see if the coast is clear, It is.’ ”

  “Chet, I’ve snuck up ahead to see if the coast is clear. It is.”

  “Awful decent of you, the way you do things on your own, Skipper. Now, first thing we better do is get the Atomic Relay Remote Radio speaker into Doc Swerdlow’s skull. You set?”

  “We’re going to get caught, Frankie. I know we are. I feel it.”

  “It’s Sunday, and Sunday mornings he visits his grandfather in a nursing home.”

  “Wish I had a grandfather to visit.”

  “Okay, Skipper, I’ll take the lead. You say, ‘Right behind you, Chet.’ ”

  “Right behind you, Chet.”

  “I say, ‘Don’t make a sound.’ You say, ‘I won’t.’ Go on, say it.”

  “But if I say ‘I won’t,’ I am making a sound.”

  “Forget it. Okay, we go up the steps. Someone takes a shot at us. Ping! Missed me. Miss you, Skipper?”

  “No. It creased my skull. I can’t go on.”

  “Mario, you promised! Okay, we go up a hundred hard stone steps. Now we’re outside the Public Enemies’ High Command bunker. We lay low, making sure no one’s around. Breathing hard, I say, ‘Skipper, if I don’t get out of this alive, say hello to Bette for me.’ ”

  “She the one who’s doing the report on Mexico in class?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Didn’t know you liked her.”

  “I don’t. I’m just saying it. Okay. I peek out. I see the coast is clear. We approach the door. Suddenly, seventeen storm troopers leap forward in a deadly ambush. Oh-oh, Skipper, we’re in trouble. We fall back, our guns blazing. Ping! Pow! Slam! Machine guns spray the air! Quick. The Automatic Ambush Breaker!”

  “Buzz! Buzz!”

  “Great going, Skipper. You got them all. Okay, I open the trapdoor. The hinges creak. I step inside. Step, step. Turn on the hidden button. Click! You follow.”

  “Where’s the skull?”

  “I don’t know. Look under his pillow.”

  “Isn’t there. Try the closet.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “See, he fixed the skull on top of the rest of the bones. Must be a shrine.”

  “Isn’t that skull a little small for the rest of it?”

  “He probably shrank it.”

  “How’d he do that?”

  “You can get special skull shrink mixes. Slide the chair over.”

  “Frankie, you know what? I think the skull is too small for the speaker.”

  “Shhh! Look out!”

  “Oh, God, Frankie! You knocked the whole skeleton down! It’s broken! Now what are we going to do?”

  “Come on. We have to put it back together.”

  “He’s going to come back, Frankie. I know he is!”

  “No, he isn’t. And it’s not broken. Just a couple of pieces fell o
ff. The rest is attached with wires. Come on, put the speaker down and help me put this up again.”

  “I don’t want to touch it.”

  “Mario, if we leave it like this, he’ll know we came in for sure. Come on!”

  “It’s heavy.”

  “Mario, lift some more!”

  “I’m trying!”

  “Look out for the ribs.”

  “Frankie, it kicked me!”

  “Higher!”

  “I hate this!”

  “More!”

  “It’s slipping!”

  “Almost! Okay. There.”

  “Frankie?”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Hold it till you get back home.”

  “But what about those two pieces? Where do they come from?”

  “This one could be part of an arm. Or a rib. I’ll slide it in here.”

  “Frankie, a person wouldn’t have a bone going from one side of his chest to the other side — right through the lungs. Makes it look like an arrow.”

  “What about here?”

  “That’s okay. Do something with the other one.”

  “This all right?”

  “Frankie, no one has fingers two feet long!”

  “Okay. There.”

  “That’s better. Now let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait! The speaker. Where we going to put it?”

  “There?”

  “Mario, a ghost wouldn’t be caught dead in a dirty clothes hamper. I know. Under his bed. Great. Now we run the wire out the window. See if it reaches down enough.”

  “It does.”

  “Okay, Skipper, now let’s get out of here.”

  “MARIO! Here comes the wire down the coal chute. Grab it.”

  “What happens if you get a coal delivery?”

  “They don’t deliver Sundays.”

  “Everything’s filthy with coal dust. My mother doesn’t want me to get dirty Sundays.”

  “Pretend it’s Monday. Now take the wire and run it over to the sender.”

  “Got it.”

  “YOU GET IT hooked up yet?”

  “I think so. Where we going to plug it in?”

  “Over there.”

  “Go on.”

  “Here goes, Skipper. Okay. All plugged in. Is it on?”