"I wish I knew how to," sighed Trotter.
"Then spoil them with too much publicity," proposed the submarine
captain. "Let the whole country know all about them and their records,
and just how they look."
"If I could! But how am I to do it?"
"Why, there's a writer here at Spruce Beach," Jack continued; "a man
named Hennessy. Let him write all the facts of this whole story, or
such of the facts as you want made public. Let Hennessy have the
photographs of this spy crew. He can print the yarn in his newspaper
and in some magazine, and can use all the photos. Then these people
will find themselves so well known that about all of them value as spies
will be gone."
"By Jove, but that's a clear-headed idea," muttered Trotter, rising from
his chair. "It will do the trick, too. Where is this man, Hennessy?"
"Stopping at the Clayton, sir."
"Packwood, will you go over and get that reporter?" asked Mr. Trotter,
turning to his associate.
In the next minute Jack was telling Trotter of the fire-incident and the
envelope that Mlle. Nadiboff had given him. By the time the submarine
boy had finished his recital Jacob Farnum hurried in.
"That stuff," he reported, "is morphine sulphate, and the druggist says
there was enough of it to take you clear out of this world and into the
next.
Pages:
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219