Being summer, the hotel was full. The crowd was of a refined class the blatant profiteer with his bejewelled wife being happily absent. In the grounds of the hotel was a path which led to a small gate whereon was a notice—“Private. No Admittance”—the entrance to the wireless station. Beyond that gate no person was allowed to go, save by special authority from the head office at Marconi House, though most of the summer visitors longed to pass beyond and learn the secrets of that wonderful station—the first that Senatore Marconi established for communication with America.
Geoffrey had breakfasted at seven, and had crossed to the long, low-built buildings situated beneath those high, spidery aerial wires, with their tall, slender masts which withstand so well the fierce winter gales of the Atlantic. There for over an hour he had been busy making some adjustments upon the new eight-kilowatt wireless telephone which was being set up for the transmission of speech to Madrid. Then, at last, he had emerged from the power-house and walked along the gravelled path in the direction of the hotel, for he knew that Sylvia, after breakfasting with her mother, would be outside to enjoy the morning sunshine.
He was not long before he caught sight of her, a fresh, smiling figure in a summer blouse and cream serge skirt. She wore no hat, and in her face showed that health given by the sunshine and sea air.
“Hulloa, Geoff!” she cried as she met the young fellow. “Up and busy already?”
“Yes,” he answered. “We’re still troubled over the set. Can’t get it working properly yet.”
“What’s going on just now?” the girl asked, for during the three days she had been there she had been an unofficially privileged visitor to the wireless station on account of her friendship with Falconer. She had begun to know some of the routine of the traffic.
Her lover glanced at his watch.
“Just twenty past nine,” he remarked. “In ten minutes they will be sending the Admiralty weather forecast to the ships. Come over and watch it going out,” he suggested, and, as she at once agreed, he turned back with her.
Already, as they approached, they could hear the dull roar of huge dynamos set in motion to test in preparation for the powerful spark transmission, and as they passed into the power-room, Geoffrey said:
“You’d better hold your fingers in your ears when they try the spark. Come, let’s have a look at the Devil’s Oven.”