In this instant of utter uncertainty a tinkling of a bell broke in upon them. It was the call bell that Dawson had attached to the wireless apparatus.
“Remember, you keep quiet,” almost whispered Joe to Hank, then quitted the room 109 hastily. Butts suddenly began to grin sheepishly. Rising, he sauntered over to a window.
Joe had hurried to the wireless room on the mere chance that it might be a message for Lonely Island. It was much more likely to be the regular business of ships passing on the sea. But as he entered the room Dawson heard the clicking call from a receiving instrument:
“CBA! CBA!” That was Lonely Island’s call surely enough.
Breaking in at the key, Joe sent the sparks chasing each other up the aerials. Having answered, he slipped on the head-band, fitting the watch-case receivers over his ears. Picking up a pencil, he wrote.
It was a rush telegram from Mr. Seaton’s lawyer, up at Beaufort, and it read:
Man much resembles description of Dalton has just been reported embarking on seventy-foot cruising motor boat ten miles above this city. Man in command of boat positively said to be Captain Dave Lemly.
“Remain at wire for further talk,” Joe’s trembling fingers signaled back. Then, leaping up, he bounded into the next room.
“Read it to me,” Powell Seaton begged.
Tom Halstead took the sheet, reading rapidly yet clearly. The young skipper was excited, though he forced himself to remain cool. 110