The long-distance traffic to and from America and Europe is always clearer and of greater interest in the small hours of the morning than in the daytime, for at night the electric waves carry farther, and are converted into signals much louder and more distinct than during the hours of light.
So he took up the telephones, drew down the aerial switch, thus connecting the high twin wires across the lawn to the instruments, and by means of another switch put into circuit his long-wave set—the apparatus upon which the chief high-power European stations were received.
The first he heard was Moscow sending out its usual Bolshevik propaganda—of which nobody takes any notice—then, turning the condenser slowly, he heard Nantes sending to Budapest. Another slight turn and he listened to “F.L.,” (the Eiffel Tower) transmitting upon its continuous wave—or “C.W.,” as it is known to wireless men—to Sarajevo, in Bosnia, and at the same time Madrid was in communication with Poldhu, in Cornwall.
Strange, indeed, is the medley of messages which flash through the ether in the starlight, unseen, unfelt, and undetected, save by the delicate apparatus with its row of little illuminated vacuum tubes such as Geoffrey Falconer had there before him.
He was just about to lay down the telephone when, as he turned the knob of the condenser, he suddenly heard an unusual howl—the strong, high-pitched whistle of a continuous-wave valve. He knew by the sound that it was the wave of a wireless telephone, therefore he waited and listened.
In a few seconds he heard a voice, deep, but not unmusical, exclaim in Italian with great clearness—almost as clear as that from the experimental telephone set at Chelmsford:
“Hulloa! Hulloa! Hulloa! I am calling I.C.I.! Hulloa, I.C.I.! Can you hear me? I.C.I.! I.C.I.!” the voice kept repeating, calling Coltano, in Italy.
Geoffrey was greatly mystified. The note was quite clear and distinct, though the voice was apparently distorted. The modulation was a little faulty. But, as an expert, he knew the great difficulties of telephony without wires, and the thousand and one trivial things which are necessary for success. A loose terminal screw; the disconnection of a single strand of wire no thicker than a human hair; a failing accumulator, or a “soft” valve, all too frequently undetectable, makes the difference between failure and success.
There was an interval of half a minute.
The operator, whoever he was, who wanted Coltano, the station a thousand miles away from Essex, was no doubt making some adjustment.