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Kennedy and I stopped before the little wireless telegraph station of the signal corps in front of the grand stand and watched the operator working over his instruments. "There it is again," muttered the operator angrily. "What's the matter?" asked Kennedy. "Amateurs interfering with you?" The man nodded a reply, shaking his head with the telephone-like receiver, viciously.
He had placed the peculiar telephone-like transmitter close to the combination lock and was turning the combination rapidly. Suddenly he rose, gave the bolts a twist, and the ponderous doors swung open. "What is it?" I asked eagerly. "A burglar's microphone," he answered, hastily looking over the contents of the safe. "The microphone is now used by burglars for picking combination locks.
Following the awful report, the terrific recoil and the howl of the wind as it rushed into the vacuum created, there was an intense silence. The projectile had been seen by some as a dark speck, rushing through the air like a meteor. Then the wireless operator could be seen writing down a message, the telephone-like receivers clamped over his ears.
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