“We should have all been burned as wizards had we lived a few hundred years ago,” laughed Geoffrey. “The world would have declared us capable of working miracles—heat, motion, light and sound—created out of nothing!”
The young men remained smoking until Geoffrey was compelled to scurry to catch his last train, while Enrico Rossi left him at Liverpool Street Station to go back to his hotel.
“I’ll be down at Chelmsford again to-morrow,” he said on parting. “We’ve got a lot of trouble with our five-kilowatt telephone set, and we want your people to help us out of it.”
“No doubt we can,” laughed Geoffrey. “We can fit you up with most things in wireless at Chelmsford.”
“Right-o!” said the Italian. “I’ll be down in the morning. Buona notte!”
And he turned and left his friend as the train moved off.
Now, on Geoffrey’s return home, he found the Professor busy writing in his study, at work on the great book which was to be the crowning distinction of his splendid career.
The courtly old man put aside his pen, and filling his pipe, listened to his son’s account of the unexpected arrival of Enrico, of whom he had so often spoken since the war, and whose talents as a radio-engineer he always praised so highly.
“I’ll ask him over to dine to-morrow night,” said Geoffrey when at last they rose, for it was then past one o’clock in the morning, and the Professor was about to retire.
Before going to bed, Geoffrey passed into the room which he had converted into an experimental laboratory. It was his habit—as is the habit of most wireless experimenters—to switch on the aerial and listen for a few moments before going to bed.