For the next few days he was extremely busy over at Witham, assisting in getting the London-Paris service going more smoothly. The most delicate adjustment of the instruments is necessary in wireless stations when at first fitted, for the apparatus is so often liable to unaccountable freaks and interruptions, each of which must be methodically overcome until the service is brought to perfection.
The apparatus at Witham, having at last been tuned up to the highest pitch, Geoffrey suddenly received orders to go down and make some adjustments at the big transatlantic station high up above Carnarvon, in North Wales.
For two days he remained there, and then returned to Warley, where the Professor was still busy upon his monumental book.
Alone with his private wireless set at one o’clock in the morning, the puzzle of that curious cipher message from the widow obsessed him. He wore the low-resistance telephones over his ears, and was listening to Poldhu sending out the day’s news to ships at sea. It was better than reading the evening papers, for here one had news in tabloid form, the news which was printed next morning upon all the transatlantic liners.
“By Jove, I will!” he exclaimed aloud to himself, after listening to a declaration made by Mr. Lloyd George to M. Briand, and reported by the Paris Matin. He removed the head-’phones, and then muttered to himself:
“I wonder who this man Mildmay can be? I’ll find out. It will be interesting—if nothing else. Yet somehow—why, I don’t know—I took an instinctive dislike to Madame Claudet. Yet there was really no reason for it as far as I could see, and she appeared to be quite charming.”
And he switched off, and retired to bed.
Two days later, having occasion to go up to Marconi House, he snatched an hour and went to Ryder Street. As he anticipated, the place was a set of bachelor’s chambers. The liftman became communicative after a ten-shilling note had been pressed into his hand.
“Well, sir,” he said in a low voice, “the fact is that I don’t know very much about Mr. Mildmay. Lord Bamford let his rooms to him about six months ago, and he seems to be away quite a lot. I forward his letters to Paris, Vienna, Rome, and other places. He is a constant traveller. He must have business abroad, I think.”
“Does he have any lady friends calling upon him?”