"Call up to the bridge to stop her," he told Nelson. "We can't afford to move in these waters with such a possibility of error!"
Nelson complied, and the throbbing drive of the engines lessened at once. Nelson said: "I've been wondering, sir, if it wouldn't be advisable to try getting a radio cross-bearing. With all these rocks and islets—"
"Radio?" repeated the little Czech, thrusting his face between the other two, in his independent fashion that ignored ship's discipline. "You're using your radio?" He broke into a knowing chuckle, his keen old eyes twinkling behind their thick lenses. "Go ahead and try it. See how much you can get! It will be no more than Hitler can get when Zukor Androka decrees silence over the German airways! Try it! Try it, I say!"
Bob Curtis stared at him, as if questioning his sanity. Then he hastened to the radio room, with Nelson at his heels, and the Czech trotting along behind.
The door burst open as they neared it. A frightened operator came out, still wearing his earphones, and stood staring upward incredulously at the aërial.
"Get us a radio cross-bearing for location at once," Curtis said sharply, for the operator seemed in a daze.
"Bearing, sir?" The man brought his eyes down with difficulty, as if still dissatisfied. "I'm sorry, sir, but the outfit's dead. Went out on me about five minutes ago. I was taking the weather report when the set conked. I was trying to see if something's wrong."
The Czech inventor giggled. Curtis gave him another curious look and thrust himself into the radio room.
"Try again!" he told the operator. "See what you can get!"
The radio man leaped to his seat and tried frantically. Again and again, he sent off a request for a cross-bearing from shore stations that had recently been established to insure safety to naval vessels, but there was no answer on any of the bands—not even the blare of a high-powered commercial program in the higher reach, nor the chatter of ships or amateurs on the shorter.