“All right,” said Thorne, and the next moment the operator turned away while the clicking of the key called Thorne to the table. It took him but a few minutes to write the brief message which he addressed and turned to the first messenger, “Quartermaster General.”
“He wasn’t in his office a short time ago, sir,” said the messenger.
“Very well, find him. He has probably gone home and he has to have this message.”
“Very good, sir.”
The key kept up its clicking. In a short time another message was written off.
“Ready here,” cried Thorne, looking at the other messenger. “This is for the Secretary of the Treasury, marked private. Take it to his home.”
“He was down at the Cabinet meeting a little while ago, sir,” said the second messenger.
“No difference, take it to his house and wait until he comes.”
The instant the departing messenger left him alone in the room, Thorne leaped to his feet and ran with cat-like swiftness to the door, opened it, and quickly but carefully examined the corridor to make sure that no one was there on duty. Then he closed the door and turned to the nearest window, which he opened also, and looked out on the balcony, which he saw was empty. He closed the window and came back to the table, unbuckling his belt and coat as he came. These he threw on the table. The coat fell back, and he glanced in the breast pocket to see that a certain document was in sight and at hand, where he could get it quickly. Then he took his revolver, which he had previously slipped from his belt to his hip pocket, and laid it down beside the instrument.
After a final glance around him to see that he was still alone and unobserved, he seized the key on which he sounded a certain call. An expert telegrapher would have recognised it, a dash, four dots in rapid succession, then two dots together, and then two more (—.... .. ..). He waited a few moments, and when no answer came he signalled the call a second time, and after another longer wait he sent it a third time.