Signals of Treason Part 1

The microphone stands silent, but danger crackles through the airwaves! When wartime radio star Jonathan Reed receives threatening letters, society darling Diana Adams takes action! Trading her powder puff for a pistol, she transforms into MISS MASQUE to infiltrate the studio and expose the villains behind the Signals of Treason!

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GOOD EVENING, listeners across America! The year is 1943, and while our boys battle overseas, a different kind of war rages on the home front. The magnificent CBS Radio Building rises like a sentinel above the bustling Manhattan streets. Through the revolving doors glides society darling Diana Adams in a smartly tailored victory-cut suit, and at her side strides the intrepid Russ Bowman, ace reporter for the Herald Tribune, his press badge gleaming on his lapel. Russ has only just come back from the European front!

“Oh Russ,” Diana chirps, her voice candy-coated with practiced vapidity. “You simply must tell me which stars we might meet today!”

“Take it easy, Diana,” Russ chuckles. “This isn’t the Hollywood Canteen. Jonathan Reed runs the tightest ship in radio – strictly news and drama for the war effort.”

The lobby PULSES with electric energy, folks! Messengers dash with scripts stamped “CLEARED BY OFFICE OF WAR INFORMATION”! Technicians hurry with equipment marked “ESSENTIAL WAR INDUSTRY”! The unmistakable aroma of rationed coffee and cigarettes hangs in the air!

“Mr. Bowman? Miss Adams?” A crisp voice cuts through the cacophony. “I’m Patricia Wells, Mr. Reed’s assistant. Please follow me.”

They follow Miss Wells down corridors where posters warn “THE ENEMY IS LISTENING” and “LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS”! Beyond a heavy soundproof door awaits a wonderland of broadcasting technology!

“Holy mackerel,” Russ murmurs. “They’ve upgraded everything since I shipped out.”

Before them is Studio B’s CONTROL ROOM. There are more dials here than in a Flying Fortress cockpit! Vacuum tubes cast an amber glow from the towering equipment racks! Through the observation window, they can see into the studio beyond!

“The technical heart of our operation,” Patricia explains, her voice lowered reverently. ”From here our engineers coordinate every element of the broadcast.”

She leads them into an elevated visitor’s gallery. Where they look down into the cavernous performance space – Studio B itself! Performers gather around standing microphones, scripts in hand! And there, in the far corner of the vast studio, stands the sound effects department!

“How utterly fascinating!” Diana exclaims with calculated breathlessness. “Look at all those curious contraptions!”

Door frames mounted in portable stands! Footsteps pits filled with different surfaces! Metal thunder sheets! Tables crowded with coconut shells used for hoofbeats, cellophane for fire, bottles for shattering glass, a starter pistol for gunshots…

“This is our sound effects department – where the magic of radio really happens,” Patricia says. “Many of our special effects men have been called back to active service, so we’re making do with a skeleton crew. A cavalry charge, a thunderstorm, breaking waves – all made from everyday objects and a little know-how.”

“How terribly clever you all are!” gushes Diana “To be able to do so much with so little.”

“We’re just in time for today’s rehearsal for Shadow of Justice. Tomorrow night’s broadcast is special — we’ll have wounded servicemen from Bellevue Hospital and important war-bond supporters in our studio audience. Reed arranged full costumes to give them a proper show.”

To Diana’s left sits a young girl, perhaps nine or ten years old, clutching a glossy publicity photograph with both hands — “The Scarlet Shadow,” radio’s mysterious crime-fighting heroine in a dramatic scarlet costume and black mask.

Diana’s breath catches! The crimson gown, the black mask – remarkably similar to her own Miss Masque costume! For one startling heartbeat, she almost believes someone has photographed her secret identity!

But no – the styling is different. Still, the resemblance is uncanny!

“She looks absolutely divine!” Diana coos to the young girl, who beams with pride at having her hero admired.

The control booth crackles to life: “Places, everyone! ‘Shadow of Justice’ rehearsal, from the top!”

And then HE arrives, folks! Jonathan Reed strides in, leaning on an ebony cane — a battlefield souvenir from the North African campaign. Tall and commanding, he carries himself with the quiet authority of a soldier who earned his discharge the hard way. The cast straightens almost by instinct, the way civilians do when a man with real authority enters a room.

“Morning, folks.” Reed’s voice rolls through Studio B with a crisp, steady confidence that settles the room at once. “We’ve got wounded boys in the audience tomorrow night. Let’s give them a show worthy of the uniforms they wear.”

The rehearsal UNFOLDS like magic spun from air and sound, dear listeners! The Scarlet Shadow darts across imaginary rooftops, her velvet voice slicing through the hum of the studio! Reed’s commanding baritone anchors every moment — hard-boiled, relentless, the detective hot on the trail of saboteurs!

Diana leans forward, eyes shining. This isn’t mere script-reading — it’s radio alchemy, turning voices and clever sounds into living, breathing adventure.

She watches the actors shift between microphones with drilled precision, every cue a dance of split-second timing. A door slam here, a gust of wind there — each sound hitting its mark like clockwork. Timing, she realizes, is the invisible spine holding the whole illusion together.

The drama builds to its climax! The Shadow and the detective corner the Nazi spy ring on a creaking bridge over black water — nowhere to run, nowhere to hide…

At the effects table, the operator lifts a battered four-chamber wooden train whistle. He raises it, watching Reed with a marksman’s concentration.

And then—

HOOOO-OOOH!

The mournful chime bursts out early, just as Reed draws breath.
The harmonized tones sweep past the microphone like a locomotive rushing through fog — technique flawless, timing wrong by the barest heartbeat.

Reed’s expression tightens. A soldier’s steel flickers behind his eyes. His gaze snaps toward the effects table, where the operator stands motionless, whistle lowering slowly.

Gunshots crack! Glass shatters! The scene barrels onward at breakneck pace. Reed delivers his final triumphant lines with the steady confidence of a man who’s faced real fire.

Diana catches that flash of tension across his face — sharp, cold, gone in an instant. She lets the moment drift like stage smoke. Reed demands perfection, and with tomorrow night’s special broadcast, every cue must hit its mark.

The rehearsal concludes! The small gallery audience breaks into applause. The young girl beside Diana clutches her Scarlet Shadow photograph even tighter, eyes shining with admiration!

“That was absolutely thrilling!” Diana exclaims to Russ. “I had no idea radio drama was so dynamic!”

Below, Reed confers with his director, then glances at his wristwatch and leaves.

Patricia Wells soon reappears. “Mr. Bowman? Mr. Reed would like a word. His office is just down the hall.”

“Of course!” Russ rises immediately, offering Diana his arm. “Come along, Diana.”

They follow Patricia to a door marked “JONATHAN REED - PROGRAM DIRECTOR.”

Reed’s office reflects its occupant! Framed clippings line the walls — “REED BROADCASTS LIVE FROM LONDON BLITZ”! A personally inscribed photograph of General Eisenhower sits prominently on the credenza. The desk is buried under scripts and coffee cups.

Reed rises. “Russ! Good to see you again.” His eyes flick to Diana with obvious surprise. “And Miss Adams. Thank you for visiting.”

“Oh, Mr. Reed, it was absolutely magnificent!” Diana gushes, settling into a chair without invitation.

The door clicks shut. An uncomfortable silence follows!

Reed clears his throat. “Russ, I appreciate you coming. I wanted to discuss some... rather delicate matters. Professional concerns that—” He stops, clearly struggling with how to continue with Diana present.

Diana, no fool despite her carefully cultivated appearance, recognizes a dismissal when she hears one! But more than that - she recognizes TENSION! Something in Reed’s voice, in the way his knuckles whiten around his cane, in how his eyes keep darting to a folder on his desk marked “CONFIDENTIAL”!

“Oh my stars!” Diana exclaims, popping up from her chair with practiced grace. “Here I am, intruding on important business talk! You military men with your serious matters!” She touches Russ’s arm lightly. “Darling, I’ll just powder my nose while you discuss whatever mysterious things you discuss. Where might a girl find the ladies’ room, Mr. Reed?”

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Reed says, relief evident in his voice.

“You’re an absolute dear!” Diana chirps, gathering her handbag. “Don’t you boys worry about me - I can entertain myself for AGES with a compact and a lipstick!”

She glides from the office, heels clicking cheerfully on the polished floor. The door closes behind her with a soft click.

But Diana Adams doesn’t walk far, friends! Oh no!

She positions herself beside Reed’s door. The transom window stands open – carrying voices straight into the corridor! From her handbag, she produces a compact, ostensibly checking her makeup, the mirror angled PERFECTLY to watch both ends of the hallway!

Any passerby would see nothing but a society butterfly primping between appointments!

Inside the office, Reed’s voice drops: “I didn’t want to alarm you, Russ, but I’ve been receiving... threats.”

The compact nearly slips from Diana’s fingers!

Footsteps echo at the far end of the corridor; Diana angles her compact and pretends to blot her lipstick, the picture of idle vanity.

“Threats?” Russ’s voice sharpens. “What kind?”

Papers rustle. “Started three weeks ago. ‘Your tales of American heroism hide treasonous whispers. Your Nazi friends are pleased.’”

“That’s crazy,” Russ says. “You’re one of the most patriotic men I know.”

“Here’s another,” Reed mutters, lifting the page. He reads aloud:

“‘Your broadcasts aren’t just stories, Mr. Reed. Anyone paying attention can hear the pattern. The window broke at 9:15 exactly. Don’t pretend you don’t know what that means.’”

He lowers the sheet, face tight. “They’re calling me a spy, Russ.”

“Have you gone to the FBI?”

“And say what?” Reed snaps, frustration rising beneath his usually measured tone.

“That someone is accusing one of America’s most trusted war correspondents of treason? They’d pull me off the air faster than a German torpedo.” His voice softens, nearly breaking.

“But these letters mention specific sound cues. Specific broadcasts. What if something really is happening in my show without my knowledge?”

“Johnny, that’s impossible. You run the tightest ship—”

“Do I? Half my sound-effects men are new hires. The experienced ones were drafted. I’ve got a skeleton crew, Russ. What if someone slipped in under my nose? What if I’ve been transmitting intelligence to enemy agents for months?”

The corridor tilts beneath Diana’s fashionable heels.

Enemy agents.

Coded transmissions.

Right here in the mighty CBS studios, hidden behind the patriotic thunder of America’s favorite war drama.

Russ exhales. “Let me see those letters. I’ve still got contacts at the Bureau. We can handle this quietly.”

“No police. No FBI. Not yet.” Reed’s voice firms with soldierly resolve.

“If this is some crank with a grudge, I won’t ruin my career with panic. But if something is happening…”

He lets the sentence fade, the silence heavier than shouting.

“I’ll look into it,” Russ says. “Discreetly. I’ll start with your crew. Backgrounds, new hires, anyone who doesn’t belong.”

Reed inhales, the weight of tomorrow pressing in.

“Tomorrow night’s broadcast. The special performance for the wounded veterans.”

Another breath.

“If someone is using my show for espionage, they’ll try something big with that many distinguished guests in the audience.”

Diana has heard ENOUGH! Her mind races faster than a P-51 Mustang! Tomorrow night! Enemy agents transmitting coded intelligence! Jonathan Reed – genuine American hero – unknowingly used as cover for treason!

Footsteps approach!

Diana snaps her compact shut and begins walking toward the ladies’ room, humming a popular tune.

But inside that pretty head, gears turn with precision worthy of a Swiss watchmaker!

Diana Adams came this morning as a bored socialite seeking entertainment. Tonight, she would return as something else entirely – and those enemy agents would discover that Miss Masque doesn’t take kindly to traitors on American soil!

🎙️ Next Broadcast:
Miss Masque returns to CBS after dark… and discovers she’s not alone.

Part 2 airs tomorrow at 4PM (West Australian time).

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This story is written by Adam Wieland (2025), using the Public Domain character Miss Masque, originally published by Nedor Comics (Standard/Better Publications) in 1946.