"He grows troublesome, that Spencer," he mused as he made his way to his own suite of rooms.
An hour later Captain Charles Miller turned in at the main entrance of his hotel and went directly to his room on the eighth floor. Humming softly to himself he hung up his overcoat and hat in the closet, and removing his coat placed that also on a hanger. Back once more in his bedroom, he carefully arranged the heavy draperies over his window so that his movements were completely screened, and taking a black silk muffler fastened it securely over the knob of the hall door. The window and door of his private bathroom were likewise draped. Finally satisfied that he was secure from observation and all sound deadened, Miller took from his overcoat pocket four porcelain castors, and dropping on his knees by the side of his brass bed, he deftly inserted them in place of the bed's regular steel castors.
Pausing long enough to clear the toilet articles from his bureau, he lifted from a box-shaped leather bag marked "Underwood" a Massie Rosonophone and deftly installed it on the bureau top. Taking a slight copper wire he attached it to one of the posts of the bed and connected it with the apparatus, making sure that the wire was suspended clear of the ground and surrounding objects. With another suspended wire he grounded the apparatus on the radiator.
At last convinced that all was adjusted properly, Miller moved over to his desk and gazed intently at a large photograph of Kathleen Whitney. It was an occupation of which he never tired. The faint buzz of the alarm bell sent him back to the wireless apparatus, and slipping on his headpiece telephone he picked up his pencil. Listening intently to the dots and dashes, Miller took down the message passing through space.
As he jotted down the last letter and the wireless apparatus ceased to receive, Miller regarded the written coded message before him on his writing pad with deep satisfaction. He was at last in tune with the transmitting station. The code only remained to be solved.
CHAPTER VIII
KAISER BLUMEN
Miss Kiametia Grey was having her last Tuesday at home before Holy Week, and the drawing-room of her apartment was hardly large enough to hold all her callers comfortably. She was assisted in receiving by several of her friends, and Kathleen Whitney presided over the tea-table.
Kathleen, chatting gayly with first one visitor and then another, was unaware that with the passing of time her eyes strayed more and more frequently to the hall doorway, nor was she conscious that they gained an added brightness on perceiving Captain Charles Miller enter the room.
Owing to the departure of other guests Miss Kiametia contented herself with shaking Miller's hand warmly. "Come and talk to me later," she called, and turned her attention to those waiting to say good-bye. But she was not so absorbed as not to note Miller's progress down the room. From the corner of her eye she saw him stop and speak to Kathleen, accept a cup of tea, and walk over and seat himself on the sofa by Mrs. Whitney. That Mrs. Whitney was pleased by the attention was plain to be seen.