“I see! So they would.”
“It is not registered, you can make up your mind. And as it is only used much when the racing season is on at the Harrimay track, the Government has probably given it little attention.”
“Could they find it, do you think, Jessie?” asked her chum.
“I have read that the Government has wonderful means of locating any ‘squeak-box’, as they call it, that is not registered and which litters up the airways with either unimportant or absolutely evil communications. These methods of tracing unregistered sending stations were discovered during the war and were proved thoroughly before the Government allowed any small stations to be established since.”
“Do you suppose the police knew that that woman was sending racing news to gambling rooms from up there at her farm?”
“We don’t know that she is. Mr. Perkins was only repeating gossip. And we did not see aerials up there.”
“But you say that maybe they could have rigging for the station without any aerials in the open?”
“It might be. I am all confused. There certainly is a mystery about it, and Daddy Norwood ought to know at once. Oh, Chapman! That was thunder. We must hurry home.”
“Yes, Miss Jessie,” said the chauffeur, looking up at the clouds that had been gathering. “I think I can get you home before it rains.”
He increased the speed of the car. They had circled around by another way than the Parkville road, and they came through the edge of New Melford. When the automobile shot into Bonwit Boulevard and headed toward Roselawn the first flash of lightning made the girls jump.