"Yep. Pa's gone away----"

"So has my father," admitted Whistler.

"Well, neither of them can advise us, then," said Torry, practically.
"How about talking with somebody in Elmvale? The manager of the munition
works, for instance?"

"That's so! Mr. Santley. Say! let's 'phone him and see if he is at
home."

"But you can't say anything over the telephone about Blake, or about us
fellows thinking he is up to something wrong."

"We'll make an appointment with the manager," said Whistler, running
into the Torrance house.

He knew where the telephone was, the girl at central quickly gave him
the connection. A man answered the call.

"Is this Mr. Santley?" Whistler asked.

"It is. Who are you?"

Morgan told him who he was and asked if he could see the manager if he
drove right over to Elmvale in his friend's car.

"What for?"

"It has something to do with a man named Blake in the employ of the