Tracked by Wireless

by William Le Queux

Of wireless troubles he had many. Yet he was one of those easy-going golfers whom nothing disturbed. He was devoted to his wife; he led an ideal life in his picturesque, roomy bungalow in that wild, windswept spot overlooking the Atlantic, and he smoked his pet pipe, and never allowed anything to upset him. With all the public schoolboy spirit, he was devoted to his duty, and though severe and just, was yet highly popular with his whole staff.

In that bungalow the Hamiltons led a charming existence, though, if judged by life in London, it might be voted terribly dull. So it was in winter when there were no summer visitors at the hotel. But even then they had the society of the little colony of Marconi men who lived in other bungalows and down in Mullion or in Cury.

Sylvia was delighted with Mrs. Hamilton’s outspoken cosmopolitanism. She had been in half-a-dozen different lands with her husband, and her bungalow life suited her, even though servants were, perhaps, hard to keep in that remote spot. But her house was well-ordered, and furnished with great taste, a fact upon which Mrs. Beverley commented.

In the long drawing-room where the furnishings showed souvenirs of travel far afield, the chief engineer and Geoffrey smoked their cigarettes, while the ladies gossiped. Presently the two men left and entered the dining-room for a drink before parting. Then Geoffrey, as they sat near the table together, told his colleague of the strange movements of the visitor to the Polurrian Hotel.

“Very funny!” agreed Hamilton, who at that moment was lighting his beloved briar. “What can he be doing down here? Of course, we have lots of people trying to pry around the station. But I always take a very firm hand. Nobody sees anything except by signed order from the head office. It wouldn’t do to take strangers into the transmitting room where they could read any of the messages.”

“Of course not,” Geoffrey said. “But I intend to follow up the fellow and see what his game is. I don’t like being spied upon like this.”

“Yes, try to solve the mystery,” replied the engineer-in-charge.

Next day Geoffrey was early astir. At six o’clock he was already out and over at the wireless station, making some tests upon the new gear, and at nine, after a hurried breakfast at the hotel, he walked over to the Polurrian, where, from the hall-porter, he learned several facts. The visitor, Mr. Martin, had arrived by the evening train from London, had dined, and had gone out for about an hour on foot in the evening light—across the cliffs in the direction of Pradanack, he believed. Then he came back and went early to bed. All next day he had lounged about the hotel, chatting with several of the ladies. Just before dinner he had suddenly ordered a car and told them at the office to ring up the stationmaster at Penzance and secure a sleeper to Paddington, and that he would join the train at Gwinear Road.

Later in a hired car Geoffrey drove to the little town of Helston, and took train to the terminus of that winding branch-line which ends at Gwinear Road, on the main line from Penzance to Paddington. From the stationmaster there he learnt that Martin had joined the night mail to Paddington. He also learnt something further—namely, that he had despatched a telegram to a person named Meyer at an address in Hertford Road, Bayswater. The words were: “Thursday at eleven.”

At once Geoffrey decided to return to London. Therefore, he telephoned to Hamilton at Poldhu asking him to tell Mrs. Beverley that he was called to town, and promising to be back very soon.