Hood shifted from his right to his left foot and pressed his lips together. Von Koenitz fingered the waxed ends of his moustache and regarded the operator whimsically.
"In the first place," went on the President, "we desire to know whether the messages which you have reported were received under ordinary or under unusual conditions. In a word, could you form any opinion as to the whereabouts of the sender?"
Hood scratched the side of his nose in a manner politely doubtful.
"Sure thing, your Honour," he answered at last. "Sure the conditions was unusual. That feller has some juice and no mistake."
"Juice?" inquired Von Koenitz.
"Yare—current. Whines like a steel top. Fifty kilowatts sure, and maybe more! And a twelve-thousand-metre wave."
"I do not fully understand," interjected Rostoloff. "Please explain, sir."
"Ain't nothin' to explain," returned Hood. "He's just got a hell of a wave length, that's all. Biggest on earth. We're only tuned for a three-thousand-metre wave. At first I could hardly take him at all. I had to throw in our new Henderson ballast coils before I could hear properly. I reckon there ain't another station in Christendom can get him."
"Ah," remarked Von Koenitz. "One of your millionaire amateurs, I suppose."
"Yare," agreed Hood. "I thought sure he was a nut."