Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

BOY'S CINEMA Every Tuesday The sensational adventures of a daring Secret Service agent in his efforts to avenge the murder of a colleague and to bring to justice the head of a gang of spies. In the Columbia picture from which this swift drama is adapted Ralph Bellamy is starred with Fay Wray THE FATE OF R.27 A STEAM-WHISTLE shrilled across the Long Island plant of the Duncan Air- craft Company, Incorporated, because it was five o'clock in the afternoon, and out from sheds and workshops streamed skilled mechanics, released from their labours and all heading for the time-clock near the gates. Racks containing the men's cards were affixed to a wall beside the clock, and an iron railing—set three feet from the wall- compelled the departing workers to approach in single file. Each man, in turn, took his card from one of the racks marked "In," punched it in the clock, and left it in its appropriate place on one of the racks marked "Out." Ted Hall, a good-looking young fellow with a whimsical, clean-shaven face and eyes that were more green than grey, stared at the empty place where his card should have been and save tongue f^o his annoyance. "Hi, where's my card?" he howled. "Out of the way!" John Baxter, a slightly older, considerably taller, equally clean-shaven and even better-looking young man, who was immediately behind the complainant, sovmded impatient. "You're holding up the parade!" Somebody took my card I" "Well, get a search warrant." John Baxter reached out a hand to take his own card from the rack—and produced two cards, one of which bore Ted's name. "Ha, look what I've found!" Apparently Ted believed that a trick had ben played upon him. "Oh, cute kid, aren't you?" he snorted. Ho held out his hand, but the card was dropned deliberately upon the ground. "Oh. bog your pardon, Mr. Hall," said John mockingly. "Pick it up!" roared Ted. "It's not my card." " Pick that up, I said I" "Good-night, sonny." John squeezed past him—but only to be jerked back. "You pick that up, or " "Or what?" challenged John. "This!" A fist was flourished menacingly, and the men who had clocked out and the men who had not yet reached the clock looked on with interest, hoping there would be a fight. But two uniformed guards were present to keep order, and thev pounced. January 6th, 1940. "All right, get out of here!" bellowed one of them. "Cut that I Cm on, break it up I" "Let me give that guy what's coming to him," pleaded Ted; but he was bundled away from the queue by one of the guaids and John was bundled after him by the other. Twenty yards from the timekeeper's oflfice, vi-hich was situated at the back of the big general office building, near the gates, John whispered to his captor: "Grab Shuster, two-sixty-eight." "Two-sixty-eight," whispered the guard, and then he said to his colleague, loudly and grufHy: "Take them in, Jim!" John and Ted were marched into the time- keeper's office. The guard to whom John had whispered went back to the iron railing, and he stopped a man who was about to take a card from the rack nearest the left side of the clock—a mean-faced man with thick lips, a ragged moustache, and a scraggy neck. Hi, two-sixty-eight!" "You forgot to punch out, last night, didn't you?" Shuster stared. "No, I checked out," he said. "Your card doesn't show it. Better come to the office and straighten yourself out with the timekeeper." "I'll see him in the morning." "Better see him now!" The guard's tone was imperious, and Shuster reluctantly accompanied him to the timekeeper's office and across it into an adjoin- ing room, furnished with a desk, several chairs, a filing cabinet, and a safe. John and Ted were sitting on two of the chairs against a wall, and he stared at them. "Hallo," he said. "Something wrong with your cards, too ?" Neither John nor Ted answered him, but John said to the guard: "Mind waiting outside. Jerry?" The guard went out and closed the door. "Where's Mr. Fentricc?" asked Shuster. "He's gone home," John replied, lighting a cigarette. "But ho sent for me—something about punching out last night." "He didn't send for you," said Ted quietly. "Wo did." Shuster blinked. He was holding a metal lunch-box in his right hand and an out-size in thermos flasks was tucked under his left arm. John rose and exhibited a folding card, hound in cloth. Ted rose and stood beside him. "Intelligence Bureau!" exclaimed Shuster, his brown eyes bulging. "And I thought you two were mechanical Well, what can I do for youT" " We want the plans you've been copying," said John. "The plans of that new Government bomber," said Ted. Shuster professed to be both puzzled and indignant. "W'hat kind of a gag is this?" he shouted. "Whore are they?" John put away his credentials and extended a hand. "I don't mind a little kidding," growled Shuster, " but if you think I did something crooked " "We don't think it," John interrupted. "We know it-l" " We've been watching you for over a month, Quirk," said Ted with a tight little grin. "Quirk?" scoffed the captive. "You've got me all wrong. My name's Shuster." "That's what it is now," drawled Ted, "but it was Quirk in Pennsylvania, Collins in San Diego, and JefTries the time you were caught at the Randolph Field." Shuster gulped, and the Adam's apple in his scraggy throat bobbed up and down. "You re making a big mistake," he cried, "but if you think I have any plans, why don't you search me?" "We will," John informed him grimly. "Give me your coat." Shuster was slow to obey, and John seized hold of him and pulled his coat down over his arms. Ted snatched at a dark, soft-felt hat, turned it upside down and pulled out the lining. Beyond an inner door there was another office, and inside it were two members of the clerical staff. One was working at a desk, but the other was taking a very long while to sharpen a pencil in a little machine affixed to the wall between the two rooms. His name was Johnson—at all events on the pay-roll— and he was about thirty, clean-shaven and spectacled. Having sharpened away nearly an inch of the pencil, he dropped it in a pocket and moved over to a hat-stand. "Mitchell," he announced, "I'm going out to get something to eat. Answer my phone if it rings." He put on his hat and went out; but he did not seek any restaurant or eating-house. Five minutes' walk away from the plant he entered a cigar-store and leaned over its counter to point at an open box. " A couple of those Panateles, please," he said. The bald-headed proprietor of the store served him and received payment. Johnson went out with his two cigars, leaving upon the counter a folded newspaper which he seemed to have forgotten. The bald-headed