Sound of the Trumpet

  It wasn’t the first time Erda had been up against such a requirement. That was why she could draw such an enormous salary.

  They found a glass in the deserted cupboard and gave her a drink from a bottle they carried, by way of refreshment. Then the girl went to the empty parlor and put on a set of workman’s overalls from a bundle the men had brought, making up her face so that she was hardly recognizable to anyone who knew the pretty, flashy girl. She put on coarse workmen’s shoes and covered her hands with worn, soiled woolen gloves. She did up her own garments in a compact newspaper bundle and came slouching into the room as the two men finished the bottle and looked up.

  They watched her a moment with grins of approval as she stalked across the room with her bundle under her arm. Oh, she was a good actress, even when the part was not quite in her class.

  “Okay, Erda,” said Lacey. “All set?”

  “All set!” she responded cheerfully.

  “Another drink?” offered Weaver.

  “No!” said Erda. “After all, I’ve got to keep cool, and I don’t trust that stuff you’ve brought.”

  “Okay!” said Weaver with a grin, and put the second bottle back in his ample overcoat pocket. “You’re some girl, you are! I guess you knew what you were doing when you insisted on getting her this job, Lacey.”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” said Lacey.

  Then they went into the darkness, locking the door behind them. This wasn’t the first time they had used this house as a hideout and a rendezvous. Erda looked back at it as she left. She knew that somewhere about the premises there would be likely to be a shortwave radio. Maybe in one of the outbuildings. Her quick eye studied the group as they went toward the old barn. It might be up in the haymow. But that old brick smokehouse was perhaps the most likely harbor. In the darkness she could not detect any sign that would make her sure. It might be there was an underground line somewhere that would not show on the surface.

  They walked a few paces from the barn and Lacey went ahead to the old barn, presently backing out a battered car from its depths. They climbed in and sat in silence while Lacey drove cautiously without lights, until he reached a dirt road at some distance from the house. Then he skirted a piece of woods and came finally to the back road, which he followed for some distance till he came to a little way station where a freight train was maneuvering on a side track.

  “There she is,” said Lacey, who had been watching rather anxiously ahead. “You get into that caboose, Erda. You’ll likely find some other workmen there. They’re used to carrying men to work early in the morning. They wait here for the express to come along and then they start. You’ll get to the city in about an hour, and you better get your work done as quick as you can. Afterward, when you get a chance, call me up and let me know how you’re doing. If you succeed in getting this accomplished tonight, go to Weaver’s place. Here are the directions. You better stay away from your office a couple of days yet and telephone your boss that your friend in New York is dead or dying and you have to stay for the funeral, or something like that. You can fix that up, you know, and when you get back, don’t look too happy about it. A few tears will throw off any suspicions easier than anything else, if I know anything about your young boss.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Erda. “I’ll fix that up, all right.”

  “Be sure to keep in touch with me!” said Lacey as Erda climbed down from the car and made a clumsy way across the tracks to the caboose, which was standing not far away.

  “Nice little number,” said Weaver appreciatively as he watched her go. “Where d’you pick her up? Shouldn’t wonder if she’ll pull off the trick in good shape.”

  “She will,” said Lacey. “She’s slick at her job. Been trained over in Europe under men that know their business.”

  “Well, I guess she’s our answer, all right. Probably that man Sargent might have been too conscientious for our purpose. But anyhow, you might keep a weather eye out for him. We might be able to tempt him yet.”

  “Oh, he’s gone to war!” said Lacey in disgust. “That’s him all over. Didn’t have to, but he’s gone. He had a good job in a defense plant, too, and might have salved his conscience with the idea that it was necessary. But he had to throw it all up and go and enlist. Can you explain that? I can’t see any young man, good looker, good job, chance for bigger things if he would, throwing it all away and going out to get killed. Can you? What’s patriotism at such a price? What’s the matter with a guy like that?”

  “Too much conscience,” said Weaver meditatively. “I guess that’s what killed him for us. Well, we’re doing very well. I think your girl is okay. We’ll see what comes. If she can get possession of that gadget and give it to us, we’ll be on easy street and our sponsors will be satisfied.”

  They drove on to a village and left their rented car at a little country garage where they had hired it early in the day, then went their way by bus and trolley to the places where they were at present hiding.

  But Erda was lounging lazily in the back of the caboose, her hat drawn down over her eyes, which were shut except occasionally when a trainman came through or when three workmen swung aboard and slouched down in as many seats, setting their dinner pails on the floor at their feet with a clatter and eyeing the rough-looking, slender boy in their midst. They had passed her with a couple of curious glances. She looked white and dirty and tired. The world was full of such workers just now. You couldn’t figure them all out, but what did it matter? Then they too lolled back in their seats and went to sleep. Noisily. In different keys.

  It was still very dark when the freight train rambled onto a sidetrack down behind the Vandingham plant buildings and rattled to a temporary pause in its goings. Erda lurched to her feet and pretended to be suddenly roused, though in reality she had been alert for the last half hour, watching the window furtively for any familiar lights in the sky, any buildings that would show her where she was. The whole plan of her going was thoroughly in her mind. She was not easily distracted. She was perfectly calm. All was going well.

  She stole a furtive look through the window and could glimpse a couple of workmen from the plant coming out the side gate that gave to the tracks. That was where she planned to go in, if possible. Would any of the keys she had brought with her fit that lock? She swung awkwardly down to the track and pretended to stumble gawkily along, acting her part to perfection, even there in the semi-darkness. Then she melted well into the shadows under the wall of the plant and hunched herself down out of sight. If any of her fellow travelers should rouse and look out the window, they would not be able to see her here.

  She walked along to a little niche in the wall where she would be well hidden, and by sense of feel examined her bunch of company keys, selecting one she thought might open that little gate in the wall. If she could only get in there, her way would be plain. This was the time when the workman on that special machine she had been sent to examine was gone to his early breakfast, and the man who took his place would not arrive until perhaps an hour later. She had been noting all such habits.

  She stole back to the door in the wall, and flattening herself against the bricks, her face turned from the light, she tried to fit the key into the lock. Oh, would she never find the keyhole?

  She turned her tiny pencil-like flashlight on and shone it across the lock and then turned it off instantly, working the key again. This was the right one, she was sure. She had been collecting keys for some time in view of just such an expedition as she was undertaking now. She could hear a train coming in the distance. Was that the express? It would have bright lights, a tremendous headlight, and she would be able to see what she was doing. But on the other hand, someone might see her trying to get into the back door of the plant at that hour of the night. Oh, she must get this door open and vanish inside before the train arrived.

  There! The key had slipped into the keyhole at last, and with a mighty effort she turned it. Could it be the right one, so stiff to turn? There! Ye
s, the door was unlocked! She took out the key, and with a quick look up the track where the long sharp headlight was piercing the darkness, she opened the door and slipped inside, flattening herself against the wall till she could be sure whether anyone had seen her enter.

  No, the yard was quiet and empty. No sound save the steady monotony of the clashing machinery. No men walking about. The night shift was on, and they were all working of course, except a few in the room where the manager had left to go to his home. The room where she must go.

  Swiftly, keeping to the shadows close to the wall, she made her way to the far door of that special building, hoping thus to avoid meeting any of the men. She knew just about where each one would be working at this hour. She had not spent time in the Vandingham Company without discovering all these important details. It was all a part of the business in which she had had foreign training.

  The key for that door? Yes, here it was. She had had that made from a borrowed key when the owner had gone to lunch and left his coat hanging on the wall.

  Quickly, she unlocked that door, stepped inside the building, and immediately the thrash of the machinery told her that all was going as usual and none of the workers would be likely to notice her now. There were only two men down here who knew her, and she was sure they wouldn’t recognize her in this disguise. Besides they were working at the very extreme other end of the building.

  So Erda arrived at the machine she was to search, still unnoticed.

  The blueprints from which they worked came first. They were most important. Even if she failed to get the gadget itself at once, without the blueprints they would find it next to impossible to produce more without exact measurements. And she knew pretty well where the blueprints would be. In the drawer of the metal case near the big machine. It might be unlocked, but even if it were locked, she had the key.

  Hiding in the shadows behind the machine, for the workman had snapped out the brighter lights when he left, Erda unlocked the drawers of the metal case and gathered the rolls of the blueprints, sliding them into the paper wrapped around her garments. Then she turned and cast a quick glance about. Where would they have put that gadget? She already knew well its size and shape from the description. And there it lay on the top of the cabinet, just above the drawers, as inconsequential as if it were most unimportant. Just a piece of metal in a strange shape, shining there in the shadow and looking like nothing at all.

  Erda’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction and her heart missed a beat, but she put out her hand and enfolded the gadget. It wasn’t large or heavy. Just important. The old sweater she was wearing over her rough workman’s garments would easily cover it. She slid it inside her blouse, fastened a button of her sweater, closed and locked the empty drawers, picked up her paper bundle and held it close to her chest, making sure that the gadget wasn’t noticeable. Then she slid into the shadows along the wall again, and so toward the door by which she had come in. Now, if she could only get outside and disappear before the man that had charge of that end of the room returned, all would be well. If it hadn’t taken as long as she had feared.

  But suddenly she stopped short in her tracks and froze into a silent shadow, turning her eyes quickly to the door across the room. That was the man! He had returned sooner than usual, and he had someone else with him. They were coming across to his machine! If he should discover the gadget was gone before she could get out, all was lost!

  Slowly, she moved almost as invisibly as a spider might have spun his silken web. If she could just manage to get behind the next machine, she could make it out the side door and through into the next building. Suppose someone did see her? They would just think it was a new workman, a mere boy. There were so many hundred men in the plant that one low-browed, dark, slender youth would not be noticed. She knew she looked very like a young foreigner. She could pass for that easily in the dim shadows of the part of the building where she would walk.

  Clasping her bundle closely and bending her head with a weary gesture as if she were tired from a whole night of work, she crept on. She was not looking directly at the approaching men. The back of her cap would conceal her face from them. And there! Now she was directly behind the next machine! One step more and she could get across the intervening space and be in the dim corridor between the buildings, and then she would be practically safe.

  Just then she heard the voice of the operator for the next machine. He was coming down the wall beyond her, calling to the man on the other side. “Hey, Jim. Got the finished one over there? I want to check up on something before I set the machine for the next.”

  Erda stopped, petrified. They were coming over here. They were after her! They would discover the gadget was gone, and they would raise an outcry. She would never escape if that happened. She would be caught red-handed, and her reputation as a spy would be gone. And just when she thought all the danger was past!

  “Okay, Butch. Yes, it’s here. Be with you in a minute!” answered the foreman.

  The two men across the room paused and looked up. The one they called Jim was explaining something about the building or the machinery. And it was just by the fraction of a minute that Erda’s day was saved. The man they called Butch paused as he came and turned toward the other two for just a second, so that the young workman with his newspaper bundle could slip by into the corridor and be gone when Butch came on with Jim and the other man. She was gone into the dimness of the corridor that led to the yard.

  Outside she could hear the steady tramp of the night watchman on his beat, and she knew she must wait inside the corridor until he was gone by or be challenged and have to explain her presence.

  Alertly she watched beside the door, studying the lock in the dim light. Trying the door to see of it was fastened, she found it was. In the darkness she felt for her keys to choose the right one. She had practiced this exercise so many times. Yes, here it was. She fitted it in the lock and attempted to turn it, but it ground noisily. Alarmed, she applied a drop of oil from a vial she had brought along. Oil quieted so many things that might make trouble.

  And now there were footsteps along the corridor, coming from the upper end, the end toward the offices. She had hoped to escape through that exit if this first door failed her. Coolly she turned the key at last, swung the door open, and slipped out, just in time. Some men were coming from the other building carrying some frames between them. Those would be frames for the next set of castings. If she had met them, they certainly would have challenged her and put her under arrest until she could explain her presence there.

  Out into the yard she came, like a shadow. The stars were dim and far away. The sky was still dark. Dawn was yet to come.

  Clutching her bundle firmly, she made her way to an outer gate she knew she could get through if the night watchman was not about. She could listen in the dark to make sure of that. If she only knew what time it was!

  Just then the city hall clock struck—one, two, three! Ah, there was still time. She could get to Mr. Weaver’s rendezvous before it was light enough for many to be abroad. If she could do that, she could take the train and get to New York, where for a time at least she would be safe. It would not do for her to be found in this city. Not yet. She must have a perfect alibi.

  She hurried along the dark street, her clumsy shoes stumbling at a rough stone. How glad she would be to get rid of these garments and be clothed again in her own things. If she pulled this off in good shape, perhaps she would have money enough to get out of this kind of thing, live like a human being and not like a spy. But would she be content without excitement? After all, she had been raised to it. And if she did give it up, would she want to marry Victor? Of course he was wealthy enough, and a fairly good sport in some things, but he was such an awful sap! There were other men in the world, and now that she had money enough to dress as she should, it would be easy to find them. But after all, why bother? She had Victor right where she wanted him and could get anything from him she desired. Well, she would see, once
she got away with this affair. And after all, she could carry on her life work just as successfully if she were a married woman.

  She thought of all this while she was going stealthily through narrow, dark streets where no life seemed to be, vanishing into blackness. At last she came to a little door in a wall. She pressed a button, and the door swung inward softly and then closed behind her after she entered. A soft light blurred down a passage, and she followed the way as she had been directed.

  The room she entered was plain and bare, as any rooming house might have been, and presently Weaver approached from a partly open doorway where he had been able to watch her coming.

  “Well, what success?” he asked, looking at her sharply. He was not yet fully sold on this girl as their main spy for this important case.

  For answer Erda handed him the roll of blueprints. The grim man unrolled and studied them for a moment, then, his expression relaxing, he lifted keen eyes toward her.

  “Is this all?” he asked in his severe voice.

  “If that had been all, I should not have returned so soon,” she answered haughtily. After all, this man must be made to understand that she was slick. She always got what she went for. She took chances with her life sometimes, but she brought back the booty. She reached inside her blouse and pulled forth the coveted, bright, steel object. “This is what you wanted,” she said coldly and laid it in his hand.

  “Ah!” he breathed with a look of gloating in his eyes. “You have brought it. And are you sure this is the one, the right one?”

  “There are the blueprints, Mr. Weaver,” she said loftily. “You can study them at your leisure. As for me, I must catch my train to New York.”