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I arrived just in time and decided all at once that I ought to Oh, that I wanted that I must go with you." There was a pathetic catch in her voice that went straight to Curlie's heart. "After all," he told himself, "he's her brother and that means a lot."
There followed in a clear, strong voice: "Map O.K. Old French is amazing. Good for a million." Curlie's fingers were busy once more as a tense look drew his forehead into a scowl. "About fifteen miles," he whispered. Then the voice resumed: "Time up the bird. When?" A tense silence ensued. Then, faint, as if from far away, yet very distinctly there came the single word: "Wednesday."
She had advanced halfway to her father's desk before she became aware of Curlie's presence. Then she started back with a stammered: "I I beg your pardon." "It's all right." The first smile Curlie had seen on the great man's face now curved about his mouth. "You may remain. This is no secret chamber."
On our way back Curlie informed us that he had taken us three miles beyond our lines, and we were very near being caught just opposite the line at the firing of the sundown gun. But with Curlie's earnest pleading the guards consented to allow us to cross the line.
"So you see," he turned to Vincent with a smile, "you went five hundred miles out to sea for the purpose of rediscovering America. Not much chance of success. Anyway that's what I thought, and that is why I dashed off on a wild race in the Kittlewake. And that's why we're here." Silence followed the ending of Curlie's narrative. There seemed to be nothing more to say.
Curlie's heart beat fast. Was he to be ushered at once into the august presence of the magnate? He had pictured to himself hours of waiting, interviews by private secretaries and all that. And yet here he was.
By a single move of the hand, Coles Masters indicated the radio-compass he had been listening in on. "That's where he was, last time he spoke," he grumbled, "but no telling where he'll be next. He's been dodging all over that stretch of country." Curlie's fingers moved rapidly. He adjusted the coil of a radio-compass here, another there and still another here.
A message was being shouted out on 600. "That's the chap Curlie's after. So he hasn't got him yet? Well, here's hoping he hurries." His pencil began rapidly writing the message. Meanwhile Curlie in his woods retreat had moved silently over to the other side of the driveway. "Probably will come back the other way," he concluded.
Joe had gone quite to sleep when Curlie suddenly dug him in the ribs and uttered the shrilly whispered warning: "Hist! There she blows!" A flashlight was snapped on. Curlie's fingers flew from instrument to instrument. The voice of the mysterious operator could be heard.
Don't mean much as it stands, but I suspect means a lot more than it seems to." Just above Curlie's head there hung a receiver. To the right and left of him were two loud-speakers. Before him ranged three others. Each one of these was tuned to a certain wave length, 200, 350, 500, 600, 1200 meters.
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