Something whispered in the ship. They jerked their heads up, stood listening. The faint susurration swept all about them, questioning, curious. It came again, imperative; suddenly demanding.
"Gawd," whispered Gunn. "Wot is it, guv'nor?"
Emerson shook his head, frowning, suddenly glad that the others had heard it, too.
"Maybe somebody trying to speak to us," stated Nichols.
The whispers grew louder and harsher. Angry.
"Take it easy," yelled Mussdorf savagely. "We don't know what you're talking about. How can we answer you, you stupid lug?"
Gunn giggled hysterically, "We can't even 'alf talk 'is bloomin' language."
The rustle ceased. The silence hung eerily in the ship. The men looked at one another, curious; somehow, a little nervous.
"What a radio he must have," said Emerson softly. "The metal of our hull is his loudspeaker. That's why we heard him in all directions."
Mussdorf nodded, shaggy brows knotted.