But before that he heard a voice. And that voice, coming as it did from the air, thrilled him to the very tips of his toes.
He was seated in the shack1, the very shack you have come to know so well from reading The Arrow of Fire—the one Drew Lane had rented from nobody in particular. It was, you will recall, surrounded by brick structures of some size. But, like some stunted2 little pine among a forest of giants, a relic3 of the past, it had held its place during all the changing years.
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A fishing shack it had been at one time, perhaps, when the shore of the lake was several blocks closer to the heart of the city. Now it served as a home for Drew Lane and Johnny Thompson, together with anyone who might have met with misfortune and come under the observation of these youthful philanthropists.
At the moment Johnny was not thinking of philanthropy, but of crime. “Why is it,” he was asking himself, “that men are willing to place themselves outside the law? Why will they steal and kill? Why bring airplanes down in the night, or snatch a package from an honest boy who is trying to do his duty?
“Probably money,” he told himself. “But money for what purpose? To pay rent? Buy food? Not often. Money for pleasure, gambling4, gaudy5 clothes, high-power cars, drink. These are what the money buys.
“Too often they wish to ape the rich. And what do the foolish sort of rich people do but put on a big show? Huh!”
He left the subject with disgust, to wonder about other matters. He thought again of that haunting Gray Shadow that, appearing and disappearing, seemed to guard his destiny.
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“An angel of light,” he murmured. “Wonder if I’ll ever see him face to face. I—”
He broke off short to listen. Just before the air of the room had been filled with the melodious6 notes of Titl’s Serenade. Now, as the notes died away, without announcement someone broke in with the words:
“I am the Voice.”
“The Voice!” Johnny exclaimed. “Where did I hear that expression before?”
But the voice was going on. It was telling the people of this great city, at an hour when they were at home and in a thoughtful mood, just what their city was like.
“I am the Voice.” The tones were low and mellow7, a kindly8, almost pleading voice. “This is your city and my city. It is our home. We have always lived here. We love it. And yet it is a graft-ridden, crime-ridden city.
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“I am the Voice. I must tell you of these things. I, the Voice, am hidden away. I will be hidden. No one knows my name. The announcer does not know, the station manager does not know. No one sees me. No one will see me. I am only a Voice. Each night at this hour I will tell you of our city. I will tell you many things that it is disturbing to hear; yet you must hear them. It is my duty to speak; yours to listen.”
Johnny thrilled and trembled at the sound of this Voice. It was as if the Voice was no real person, but one returned from the dead.
“Like the Gray Shadow,” he told himself. “So unreal.”
Though the Voice seemed unreal, the events it was to speak of next were real enough, as Johnny was in a position to know.
“Only one little group of facts to-night,” the Voice went on, “then I am done. A few hours ago, a known gunman was arrested. Damaging evidence was found on his person. Two young detectives who have built up an enviable record for themselves, brought him in. The evidence was placed before the Chief. The Chief returned the evidence. Why? A man whispered into his ear. Why? The gunman was released. Why?
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“The young detectives have been placed in a position where they can make no more arrests. Why?
“A certain reporter is said to have unusual influence and power with the City Council and civic9 officials. Why?
“I am the Voice. I bid you good-night.”
Once more the instrumental trio was on the air.
“Who is this Voice?” Johnny asked himself. “How did he know all that?”
He thought of “The Ferret.” Now he recalled that he had said something about the Voice. But what voice? Was it this voice? He could not be sure.
“Have to ask him,” he told himself. At that, he was not sure he would ask “The Ferret.” Some affairs are best left secret. This Johnny knew well enough.
He went to the telephone and called a number. Ten minutes later he was out of the shack and on his way to the entrance of the city’s freight subway. He had gained permission to spend the night there. And such a night as it was to be!
点击收听单词发音
1 shack | |
adj.简陋的小屋,窝棚 | |
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2 stunted | |
adj.矮小的;发育迟缓的 | |
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3 relic | |
n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
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4 gambling | |
n.赌博;投机 | |
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5 gaudy | |
adj.华而不实的;俗丽的 | |
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6 melodious | |
adj.旋律美妙的,调子优美的,音乐性的 | |
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7 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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8 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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9 civic | |
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
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