A CLUE
Exams and exercises were over and the students mostly gone. A few
remained to brush up on studies, or to complete work begun in the shop.
Bill and Gus were among these. They had an order from one of the
professors for a very fine radio receiver and it was not quite finished.
The matron and cooks had vanished and the boys had to get their own
meals. As one after another of the lingerers left, the dormitory became
quieter, almost oppressively lonesome, to Bill at least, who was social
by nature; but Gus, the hermit, rather enjoyed it.
Listening in over the radio was not neglected. It served to cheer the
monotony. Not only were the boys alive to the advertised concerts and
entertainments, but they caught a tangle of outside waves that was often
quite amusing.
Only two more days were required for them to finish their job. They had
decided to let their receiver remain, as they were to occupy the same
room next term, and now two receivers at home would serve. The loud
speaker had been removed, adjustments made, and now Bill sat at the
little table with the 'phones clamped on his ears.
Suddenly he called to Gus: "Get 'em on! Get em' on, quick! Somebody is
sending a message out to Marconi--only the end of it now, though."
"--be most honored, I assure you," came through the air. "Several whom I
think you will be glad to meet will be there and we shall be glad to
have a word from you." There was a pause.
"It's an invitation to a banquet, or something," Gus said.
"Sure. I wonder if he's going to accept." This from Bill.
"When did he come back? I thought he sailed away last fall."
"Been back a week; read it in the paper. He's on his boat again, the
_El_--listen! He's talking."
"Marconi speaking. Gentlemen of the Society of Electrical Research, I
shall accept with much pleasure, but please do not put me down for an
extended speech. Only a few remarks--probably on my subject. But I shall
make no reference to Mars; my interest in that is almost nil. That is a
newspaper romance, and I am really getting very tired of being
misunderstood. I would be very glad if, in the course of the evening,
someone would jestingly refer to this and absolve me from holding such
untenable ideas. I thank you. I shall be there."
"Gee-whiz, Gus, I wonder if the time will ever come when we'll get
invitations like that, eh? And say, he doesn't take any stock in that
message-from-Mars foolishness."
"Well, I guess it's silly, all right," Gus agreed.
"Why, sure. They can't even tell if Mars has any life on it, and if it
has, it is mighty unlikely that any kind of creatures have developed
brains enough to understand radio. Shucks! No real scientist will waste
his time on any guesswork like that. We want to know more through the
telescope first."
"But maybe the telescope can't tell us--then what? We want to get at it
anyway we can, don't we?"
"Oh, I suppose, in any sensible, possible, likely way, but not on such a
supposition. It would be like shooting at the moon: _if_ a high-powered
gun could get its projectile beyond our attraction of gravitation and
_if_ it were aimed right, why, then the shot might hit the mark. Too
blamed many 'ifs.' And some of the greatest astronomers say Mars isn't
inhab--what's this?"
A very distant, not easily understood voice came to them. There seemed
to be some interference which not even their well-made loose coupler
could filter out. Apparently there could be nothing very entertaining
about this, except the desire to get the better of a difficult task.
"-- Atlantic. Latitude 39 -- -- -- chased her, but -- lost --. The fog
was -- -- --. On board, when start -- -- transferred, we think. Headed
west. Got a radio from the Government tug Nev -- --. Think it must have
been the same. Putting in toward Point Gifford, they said --. Think they
have landed by now. Better opportunity to demand ransom from the --.
Italian all right; sure of that. -- The banker will -- -- -- -- --. So
you be -- -- -- --."
The voice died away; a few clickings came and then silence. Bill turned
to Gus. In matters of jumping at conclusions, he had long learned to
depend most on his chum's undoubted talents, just as Gus, in most things
mental, played second fiddle to Bill.
"Say, Gus, could it be--?" Bill whispered.
"Sure is! Nothing else. Ransom, banker, Italian."
Gus felt no uncertainty. "They're after them, sure. Mr. Sabaste has had
the hunt kept up on land and sea--we know that. And this is just a
clue--an attempt to get on the trail again. Point Gifford--Bill, I know
that country. Went all along the coast there once with Uncle Bob. You
remember when? He was cutting timber down in the coast swamps. I
explored--great place for that! Sand dunes, pines, inlets; awfully wild.
Some old cabins here and there."
"They're landing there. Gus, I'll bet they're going to bring--do you
think it can be Tony, Gus?"
"Who else? They're trying to make Mr. Sabaste pay a ransom and they're
going to be in a place where they can make sure of getting it. What Tony
said about the Malatesta bunch being short of money must be true, and I
guess that restaurant business made it worse. They're going to try to
make a pretty sure thing----"
"But Gus, this radio was intended for somebody on shore who will watch
them and maybe nab them."
"No, indeed. They're not likely to nab them. They have already landed,
you see, and the detectives will watch the Upper Point, which is the
only landing place. But if these chaps are foxy, they will come to the
Lower Point, ten miles south, and cut across the inlet and the
thoroughfare in a small boat. Then their yacht, or whatever she is, will
sail up past the Upper Point, put to sea and the detectives will think
she has given up the idea of landing. I rather think I'm on to what
their scheme will be. An old oysterman showed me what some smugglers
did, and got away with it for a long time. I guess the state police
never have got on to this."
"Well, then, Gus, it's up to us to tell----"
"With several thousand dollars to save for Tony's dad? And who would
believe a couple of kids, anyway?" demanded Gus.
"But how----?"
"Let them watch the Upper Point, and if they land there, all right. I'm
going down to hunt over the Lower Point."
"You, Gus? But these fellows are a bunch of desperate scamps; gunmen, no
doubt. There'll be a lot of them, maybe----"
"No; not more than two or three. Luigi Malatesta, his brother, I think
from Merritt's description, and an accomplice or two."
"Four, Gus; maybe more. You wouldn't have a chance----"
"Well, not in a stand-up fight, I suppose. But they won't be suspecting
a kid in old fisherman's duds, and I can do some bushwhacking, I guess."
"But if you get hurt, Gus?"
"Well, there's a lot more like me everywhere. Another brother at home,
too. I'm going to try for it, Bill. I'm not going to tote a pistol, but
take Dad's hammerless, double-barreled shotgun. He has quit hunting, and
he said I could have it. They'll think I'm just a native."
"But where are you going to hang out? Your Uncle Bob isn't there any
more."
"With old Dan, the oysterman. He'll be tickled, I think, and I'll pay my
way."
"Don't get hurt, old fellow. I wish I could go with you."
"You bet I wish you could, Bill. But you pick up what you can and maybe
you'll have a chance to get it to me in some way."
"Oh, Gus, I know a scheme: That portable set we made Tompkins--it's in
his room. He would be tickled, for he liked Tony, and he has gone to
Saranac Lake. They've got one up there, so he didn't take this. We'll
get in his room and get it for you to take along. Then I'll stay here,
glue my ear to the phones and radio you everything I know, for they are
all away, and I can use their transmitter."
"Portable idea is fine, Bill, but all the rest is bunk. What, really,
can you do here?"
"Well, then, I know: We'll swipe the keys, unhook the school
transmitting set and I'll go with you and set it up at Oysterman Dan's.
Then we can work together."
"Fine! But how about the license?"
"Got one. Merely change of locality, and my own license will let me
operate anywhere. Let's get busy."