“Then undoubtedly you have noticed the little boxes which our officers wear strapped upon their heads between their antennae.”
The bee assented.
Cabot continued: “These are selective sending and receiving sets. Each one contains a wave trap, which silences the radiations of ordinary speech. You bees speak at a different wave length from the Cupians. Well, these boxes contain a wave length adjuster, which, by much the same principle, enables the officers to send to each other at different wave lengths, above the din of battle-cries.”
“I get the general idea.”
“Go then to Toron,” Myles directed. “Speak to him, and point with your paw to his selective set. Perhaps that will suggest to him to tune the instrument to your wave length, and perhaps your wave length is within the range of that instrument. At all events, it is our only chance.”
At this point, noticing that Doggo was frantically agitating his antennae, the radio man tuned back to Doggo’s wave length just in time to hear him say: “Come, my friend, reply to my offer. Will you, or will you not, surrender?”
“I surrender,” replied Cabot, “but on one condition, namely, that you spare the life of my faithful bee.”
“Granted,” said Doggo. “From henceforth you are my prisoner.”