It had a strong padlock. The man threw Tom in roughly, secured the padlock, and then went up to the table. His companion was closely inspecting the apparatus.
“I’m at home at the regular key,” he said. “I don’t know whether I can work this, though.”
“Of course you can,” urged the other. “Get ready. I’ve got the cypher key and the message right here,” and he took two sheets of paper from his pocket.
Tom was helpless. He could not possibly force the heavy door of the closet from its fastenings. Shouting would do no good. If he attempted it, his jailers would probably treat him roughly, for they were vicious-looking fellows. Tom hoped for the return of Ben and Harry, or the arrival of someone else to interrupt the man at the table. Meanwhile he was on the keen alert as to all that individual was doing.
The minute this man got his bearings, he started in with confidence. Tom learned that he was flashing a message to the steamer Councillor, bound from New York to Halifax. In plain English, the operator on the Councillor was instructed to deliver a message to a passenger answering to the name of Daniel Ritchie. The message itself was a lot of private code-words, utterly unintelligible to Tom.
The sender repeated the message and got up from the table.
“Hit or miss, that is the best I can do,” he remarked.
“Hit or miss, you’ve done all that could be expected of you,” remarked his companion. “What are you going to do with him?” questioned the speaker, with a shrug of his shoulders towards Tom’s place of imprisonment.
“Oh, leave him where he is. We want a start, and someone will come along to let him out. So long, son. You might have made ten dollars if you’d saved me the trouble of showing you that I’m some wireless myself.”
Both men laughed coarsely and left the tower. Tom knew it was futile to expect his liberty except through the accidental visit of someone. He contented himself by trying to recall what he could remember of the message sent. He tried also to figure out the motive for the men’s actions.