As the conversation ceased Tom jumped up. “Gee!” he exclaimed. “That’s the most we’ve heard yet. I wonder if Henry got it.”
Hurrying to the telephone, he was about to call Henry when the bell tinkled. “Hello!”—came the greeting in Henry’s voice as Tom took down the receiver. “This is Henry. Say, did you get it?”
“You bet we did!” Tom assured him gleefully. “What did you make out? No, guess you’d better not tell over the phone. We’ll be down there right away.”
“He’s east of here,” declared Henry, when Tom and Frank reached his home.
“Golly, he must be in Brooklyn or out on the river!” exclaimed Tom. “What did you make out that he said?”
Henry showed them the message as he had jotted it down and which, with the exception of one or two words, was identical with what they had heard.
“I couldn’t catch some of the words,” explained Henry. “There was a funny sort of noise—like some one talking through a comb with paper on it,—the way we used to do when we were little kids—say, what’s it all about anyway?”
“We don’t know,” replied Frank. “Did you hear any one else talking or anything?”
“And, Henry, were the sounds weak or faint to you?” put in Tom.
“Only that queer sound I told you about. The words were fine and strong here.”