Joe looked at him in surprise. What did this new attitude mean? True, Hank had taken no active part in the kidnapping of Nat, but he had made no move to prevent it; and yet here he was, apparently seeking their friendship. But the boy had no time to devote to speculation or questioning right then.
His sharp eyes had spied two pieces of paper lying on the floor near the wireless instruments. He eagerly picked them up and then gave an exclamation of delight.
“Why, those fellows have dropped the cipher and the key to it,” he exclaimed as he scanned the two sheets, “and here’s the message written out, too. Well, if this isn’t real luck!”
Knitting his forehead in thought, Joe went painstakingly over the message. It contained words he recollected having heard the intruding operator use. Then he took a pencil and with the help of the key managed to turn the meaningless message into plain English. This is what he wrote down:
“Leave Vesta before arrival at Vancouver. San Diego police have wired to arrest you there.”
“Phew!” whistled Joe, “so that was the game, eh? No wonder those fellows didn’t want to send their despatch from a land office! They were warning a friend, apparently a confederate of theirs in crime. Well, the rascals! I’ll fix it so that their warning will fall flat.”
He began sending out calls broadcast for the Vesta. It was some time before he raised her a hundred miles or more to the north of Goat Island. When he finally got in connection with the steamer, he requested the operator to transmit a private and confidential message to the captain. Then he sent word that the man to whom the two confederates had wirelessed was in all probability a criminal, and that it would be wise to keep him under surveillance and hand him over to the police at the first opportunity. When he had done this and received warm thanks for it, Joe began to try to raise the authorities ashore. He succeeded in getting a message into Santa Barbara police headquarters, which replied that they would be on the lookout for the two men who had visited the island. The information concerning the passenger on the Vesta was transmitted by the local authorities up the coast as far as Vancouver.
“Well, that’s a good job done,” sighed the lad contentedly, as he shoved his chair back and grounded his instruments. “Now then, if only they can nail those two fellows ashore, the wireless on Goat Island will have justified its existence for this day at any rate.”
All this time Hank Harley, a tall, raw-boned youth with big awkward hands and feet, had been looking on at Joe’s activities with much the same expression as a small boy gazing at a magician. It was plain that to Hank the whole thing savored of mystery. He stared at Joe with such wonderment and admiration that the boy could not help smiling.
“Were you talking to some one with that thing?” he asked incredulously.