“Well, but neither of you kids could work wireless?” demanded the man.
“Wireless! Why, that’s my middle name. Have you got one on the island?”
“Sure. Dick Fennell, that’s my mate, he installed one by way of amusing himself. I don’t know how good he is at it, but he’s got a likely looking set of doo-dads and things.”
The boys could hardly keep from bounding down the spiral stairway three steps at a time.
“Here’s a bit of luck,” exclaimed Jack, “if only that wireless is working we may be able to get into communication with the White Shark.”
Yes, if she’s on the surface,” rejoined Tom, who, as has been seen, was somewhat of a pessimist.
“Oh, she’s sure to be,” rejoined Jack, “I’ll bet they’re cruising about looking for us now. By the way,” he broke off, addressing the lightkeeper, “is there any sort of an ocean current that sets toward this island?”
“Yes, there’s the Great Bahama current that would land you here if you drifted from the northward.”
“Depend upon it then, Tom, it was just as I thought, a current that separated us from our friends,” said Jack as they descended the stairs en route for the wireless plant of the senior lightkeeper.
It was odd that they had not observed the web-like aërials before, for now that Zeb Carter, the assistant, pointed them out, they were plain enough, stretched between the lighthouse itself and a dead palm tree. The room which housed the instruments was more of a rough shed than anything else, and was roofed with palm leaves.