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And true to their promise, the boys had all returned to the Layton home by eight o'clock that evening, full of enthusiasm for the task that lay before them. Mr. Layton was mildly interested in the radiophone project, but after a few questions he retired to the library with the evening paper, leaving the boys to their own devices.
"That radiophone was mounted on a car," he decided; "I'll stake my life on that. Now if he keeps it up, how am I to catch him?" The next night found Curlie in the secret tower room alone. Joe Marion was away helping to run down a case of "malicious interference." It was curious business, this work of the radio secret service.
We'll manage it somehow got to." The girl rose, to sink upon a seat in the corner. "That's right," shouted Curlie. "You stay right here. We'll be company for each other. Fellow needs company on a night like this. Besides, I've got something to say, a lot to say, to you and Joe as soon as the radiophone is tuned up again. Got to say it before I get killed again," he chuckled.
Only one thing he could be sure of; his throbbing brain told it to him over and over: Alfred Brightwood, his friend, was gone gone forever. The sea had swallowed him up. When Curlie Carson had fastened the mysterious post-shaped affair to the springs of his berth, he fought his way against wind, waves and darkness back to the radiophone cabin.
"They why then Alfred called Vincent by radiophone on 600. Vincent was terribly afraid to answer on 600, but he did. And then, because he thought the discovery of the map was so awfully important, he rigged up a radiophone on his auto and I I" she buried her face in her hands "I helped him.
"And may I ask," the magnate's face was a mask, not a muscle moved, "how you happened to be in possession of these messages?" Curlie could hear his own heart beat, but he held his ground. "Since I am attached to the government radiophone staff, it is my duty to catch and record all unfair and illegally sent messages, to record them as evidence and for future reference."
I know we're a pair of fools to think of matching a few drums of gas and a bunch of popguns against the equipment of an enemy capable of moving mountains but what else is there to do?" "Nothing," said Eyer cheerfully, "and I've got a feeling that you and I will manage to acquit ourselves with credit." The radiophone buzzer sounded. Hadley was speaking.
Then there came a soft rumble, as of water beginning to boil in some huge, but distant, samovar. It seemed to go on and on and on. And there was a bluish, fluctuating glow on the horizon. Radioactivity? Wang wondered. Surely not an atomic-powered ship without safety cutoffs in this day and age. He pulled out his radiophone and thumbed the call button again. This time, there was no delay. "Yes?"
Taking off their headpieces, the two boys opened the door of the private radiophone station where the above conversation took place and stepped out to a little platform. It was a mild day late in June, and the sandy Long Island plain, broken only by a few trees, with the ocean in the distance, lay smiling before them.
"But say!" he exclaimed suddenly, "what was I doing when things went to pieces?" Joe nodded toward the radiophone desk where coils and instruments lay piled in tangled confusion. "You were getting a message from out the storm." "Oh yes, and they gave me their location. It was no, I haven't it. Lightning drove it right out of my head. Let me think. Let me concentrate."
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