“If I do you’ll lose it,” Tom shouted back. “It’s this resonance coil. You only get the voices when it points to the southeast. Tell them to listen and you yell up when they lose it and get it.”
Again Tom swung the coil about and before it had moved two feet Rawlins called up that the sounds had faded away. Once more Tom swung the coil back to its former position and once again Rawlins notified him that the voices could be heard.
But Tom was wild to be down below and hastily hanging the coil to the rail by knotting his handkerchief he hurried down.
“I knew that was it,” he declared excitedly. “The coil works and they’re southeast of here. Do you know what they’re saying?”
“No, it’s Russian or German,” replied Mr. Henderson. “Wish Ivan were here.”
“What’s the matter with Smernoff?” suggested Rawlins.
“Of course!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “By Jove, what fools we are! Get him, Rawlins.”
Rawlins dashed from the room and returned a few seconds later dragging the big Russian with him.
“Here, Smernoff!” ordered Mr. Henderson. “Tell us what they’re saying. And no lying, either!”
Clapping the receivers over the Russian’s ears Mr. Henderson shoved him into the chair. For a moment the slow-witted fellow seemed dazed and uncomprehending and then, as the words came to him and he realized what was wanted, a strange look of mingled cunning and ferocity crossed his features and his chest heaved with the intensity of his efforts to catch every syllable.