The captain’s burly form bent over the slim body of the young operator as Jack’s nimble fingers flew over the receiving pad. He was excited and made no effort to hide it, although his long years at sea had taught him that nothing was too wildly improbable to occur on the great deep.
But that he should have collided with an iceberg and another ship within his wireless zone should be simultaneously on fire appeared to be almost without the pale of possibilities.
“Ah! Figures at last!” he said, as Jack jotted down a lot of numerals.
“Great Scott!” he shouted a moment later, “those figures put her within forty miles of us to the southwest!”
“Hold on, sir, here’s some more!” warned Jack.
The diaphragms crackled and tapped as a hail of dots and dashes beat against them like surf from the electric ocean. The sending was stronger now from the doomed vessel, wherever and whatever she was.
“This is the yacht Halcyon, New York for the Azores. Owner and son on board. For Heaven’s sake, send help! This may be good-bye.”
“Thunder and lightning!” roared the captain, more excited than Jack had ever seen him. “This is news! Why, the Halcyon is Mr. Jukes’ yacht!”
The pencil dropped from Jack’s nerveless fingers and he sat back, gasping at this extraordinary intelligence.