It was at a moment when a wave of Bolshevism was sweeping across Europe, a hostility to culture and to intelligence which had, in Russia, brought about a terrorism which was assisted by a police system which left far behind it the ideas and the proceedings of the Tsar’s secret police. And those responsible for the chaos in Russia were, it was known, endeavouring to stir up revolution in Great Britain, and thus assist Germany in her defiant attitude towards the Allies.
That night the young Marconi engineer dined at Mrs. Beverley’s, and sat beside Sylvia. Only three other guests were present, a well-known peer and his wife, and a prominent member of the Government, Mr. Charles Warwick.
Over the dinner table, in consequence of some serious reports in that night’s newspaper concerning the advance of the Red Army in the south of Russia, the conversation turned upon the situation, Mr. Warwick expressing an opinion that half the news concerning the Red successes was incorrect.
“I agree,” declared Falconer. “Only this morning I was discussing the same subject with two journalists in the Savage Club. It seems that Lenin and his friends are sending out by wireless all sorts of untruths concerning our rule in Ireland—allegations calculated to incense other countries against us.”
“Well, if that’s so, Geoffrey, why don’t you wireless people try to suppress them?” remarked Sylvia.
“An excellent suggestion!” laughed the smooth-haired young fellow. “But I’m afraid it would be impossible to stop the wireless waves they send out from Moscow each evening. When you press a wireless key the waves radiate in every direction, and reach far and wide. There is no invention yet to suppress wireless signals, except to jam them by sending out stronger ones upon the same wave-length. That can, of course, be done, but it would interfere with all wireless traffic.”
“Somebody really ought to blow up the Moscow wireless station,” declared Lord Cravenholme, an elderly blunt man, whose wife was many years his junior.
“Yes,” agreed Warwick. “The sooner somebody puts an end to their lie-factory the better.”
“Britain’s enemies are always ready enough to believe any fiction alleged against her. And, of course, the crafty Germans are behind all these attempts to stir strife,” his lordship declared, poising his hock-glass in his hand.
“Well,” exclaimed Sylvia, “I really think there’s an excellent chance for you, Geoffrey.” And she laughed merrily.