Chapter 18

THE NET TIGHTENS

When on the morrow no call of any kind came from O'Connel Mr. Crowninshield was, as his son expressed it, "fit to be tied."

"I can't see why we do not hear something to-day," fumed he. "He can't expect us to _wait developments_ forever. Are you sure you did not miss the signal, Bob."

"I don't see how I could have missed it," replied the operator patiently.

"But he always does call, doesn't he?"

"He has for the last few days."

"Then why not to-day?"

"I cannot imagine. Perhaps he couldn't."

"You don't suppose anything has happened to Lola, do you?"

"Who can tell?"

"You are right; it was a foolish question," admitted the financier, accepting the rebuke gracefully. "Still, I cannot help being anxious and wondering."

"Of course not."

"If only that miserable inspector would turn up and you could get your license! It is absurd that you cannot send a message, a man of your experience!"

"I am as sorry about the delay as you are," Bob answered. "Perhaps I am more so. Nevertheless I am not going to break the rules. Besides, were we to call O'Connel, it might arouse suspicion and get him into trouble. It is far better to leave the calling to him."

"But he hasn't called."

"Then there is some good reason, I'll be bound. He knows what he is about when he says to await developments."

"Maybe he does," sighed the elder man. "However, I am not much used to waiting. When I want a thing done, I want it done."

Bob smiled at the characteristic remark.

"You cannot whisk everything off like that," observed he. "Sometimes it is necessary----"

"To wait? Yes, I suppose so," put in Mr. Crowninshield. "Well, I will hold my horses for one more day. But I warn you to-morrow I shall do something. I can't be hanging around like this--not knowing anything or hearing anything."

"It is hard," Bob returned sympathetically.

"It is hard for one born in New York and accustomed to seeing things hum," asserted the owner of Surfside with a wry smile. "Well, we must try to forget it, that's all. Come, get your books and let us go on with our radio lesson from the point where we left it yesterday. The rest of them are waiting and there seems to be nothing better that we can do."

Fortunately Bob was not sensitive enough to be hurt by the thrust.

"I'll be right along," agreed he, "as soon as I have locked up here."

On reaching the veranda he found his class assembled and the first comment to reach his ears was:

"No news from O'Connel, eh?"

"No, Dick."

"What in thunder do you suppose has become of him?"

Bob put his finger to his lips and taking the hint the boy abandoned the subject, inquiring instead:

"Isn't it a bore to have to listen in at just such a time every day whether it is convenient or not--I mean when you are in charge of a station."

"Sometimes it is," Bob responded. "Still, it is your job and you expect to put it first and fit your own affairs in around it. Besides, you get used to the regularity of the hours and soon do not notice the monotony of the rules. You can readily understand why, at all official radio stations, somebody must always be on the watch for S O S calls. On shipboard there are three classes of wireless stations: those having continual service with an operator who always has his ear to the receiver while the ship is in motion; those where the office is open only at stated hours and an operator listening merely for a limited time; and those whose operators have no fixed time beyond listening in the first ten minutes of each hour."

"The ship decides which kind of station it will have, I suppose," Nancy remarked.

"Indeed it doesn't," Bob contradicted, with a shake of his head. "The government saves the vessel that trouble. It defines exactly the sort of station when it issues the license. Uncle Sam also bestows on each of these stations a name or combination of letters by which it shall be known and under which it is officially listed. Each country has a prescribed number of such letters allotted for its use at the International Convention at Berne, and our nation is authorized to use groups beginning with N and W; also triple groups of KIA to KZZ. You will find all these call letters in a book that contains the wireless telegraph stations of the world, a volume issued by the international publication office at Berne."

"Can any one get one?" inquired Walter.

"Certainly, if he has the price," smiled the older brother. "I guess you do not need one, though. A local call book would answer most purposes. It would hardly be necessary for you to call any foreign offices, and I even doubt if you would need to summon Sayville, Tuckerton, New Brunswick, Marion, or Annapolis."

"Those are our trans-Atlantic stations, aren't they?" asked Dick.

"Some of them," Bob said. "We have others, though, that can talk with Europe. There is one at San Diego; Pearl Harbor in Hawaii; and Cavite in the Philippines. There are also Marconi stations at Kahuka and Bolinas. In addition to these, the government has a number of high-power stations scattered throughout the country. Arlington, Virginia----"

"Sends out the time," put in Walter with disconcerting promptness.

"It sure does, sonny."

"How many foreign countries can talk with us?" inquired Nancy.

"A short time ago there were eight that could talk direct. One is at Funabashi, Japan; one at Carnarvon, Wales; two in France, one at Nantes and one at Lyons; Rome, Italy, has one; Germany has one at Nauen and one at Eilvese, Hanover; and Norway has one at Stavanger. Then in Canada there are two transatlantic stations."

"Glace Bay!" piped the incorrigible Walter.

Bob patted his head with a mock fatherly gesture.

"Very good, son," said he, at which everybody laughed.

"These stations," he went on, "are all equipped with very high power, varying in wave length anywhere from 17,600 to 6,000 meters. Most of our stations are pretty powerful, anyway. Pearl Harbor, for instance, has a 13,000 wave length; Cavite 12,000; Sayville, 11,600; Tuckerton, owned by a French company, about 8,700; New Brunswick, New Jersey, 13,600; Marion, Massachusetts, 14,400; and Annapolis, 17,600. Only a few foreign stations can match these in range. Carnarvon has two wave lengths: 14,000 and 11,500; Lyons, 15,500; Nantes, 10,000; Rome, 11,500; Nauen, 12,550; Eilvese (Hanover), 15,000 and 9,600; and Stavanger, Norway, 9,600. There are many, however, that vary from 7,000 to 4,000 and can transmit messages by relaying them."

"I wish my set could send farther," Dick murmured regretfully.

"It sends as far as the law allows. We must therefore abide by Uncle Sam's judgment and be content. The scale is very carefully planned and the classifications made most intelligently, I think. Amateurs are limited to about a 200-meter wave length; low-power stations come next and are grouped under 1,600 meters. Of these the 750 wave is reserved for government stations such as radio compass stations, etc.; 600 meters is the commercial tune for large merchant ships; 476 that of submarines, aircraft, and small war vessels; and 300 meters is the commercial tune for small vessels. After that we pass into the higher group, all of which come under the head of medium-power stations. These range from 4,000 to 1,800 meters and first on the list are the government ships which have continuous waves and a length of from 3,000 to 4,000 meters. Following them come the experimental and miscellaneous stations with a 3,000 to 2,000-meter range; and after them the 1,800-meter class which is the commercial tune for continuous waves."

"And the high-power stations are the last, I suppose," put in Dick.

"Yes, those designed for trans-oceanic service. These range from 20,000 to 6,000 meters. The distinctions are, you see, quite positively made and everybody must keep within his assigned pigeon-hole."

"I reckon I'll keep in mine," announced Dick.

"I should advise it if you want smooth sailing," retorted Bob. "You will hardly----" but the sentence was never finished for a maid approached Mr. Crowninshield at the moment and whispered:

"The telephone, sir; New York is speaking."

"New York, Dad!" exclaimed Dick excitedly. "It may be Lyman or Dacie."

"More likely it is the office," replied his mother.

"Some business matter, I fancy," said Mr. Crowninshield as he rose. "I'm sorry to interrupt the lesson."

"I was just about through, sir."

"I'll be back in a moment probably."

"Poor father always has telephone calls," lamented Nancy sympathetically. "If he ever starts out to play golf somebody is sure to want him. Sometimes I wish that New York office was in the bottom of the sea."

"I guess you'd have precious little bread and butter if it was," announced Dick with brotherly sarcasm.

"Certainly you wouldn't be able to provide me with any," Nancy flashed back with a teasing laugh.

"Children!" interposed Mrs. Crowninshield.

"Here's Dad! Well, Pater, what was it?" asked Dick. Then on observing his father was unwontedly excited he repeated, "What's up, Dad?"

"It was Lyman," Mr. Crowninshield answered. "The New York police have run down two men and Mr. Lyman wants Bob to come over and see if he can identify either of them as the one who kidnapped Lola."

"You could identify him, couldn't you, Bob?" Walter put in.

"Of course I could. Didn't the chap come into the station to get water for his machine?" was the instant reply. "I talked with him quite a bit while he was fixing up his engine. He seemed in a powerful rush to be off and wasn't overgracious."

"But could Bob leave now, Archibald?" questioned his wife. "Isn't there the possibility of news from Mr. O'Connel?"

"Jove! I had forgotten that."

"Maybe O'Connel won't call; he didn't to-day, you know," Nancy said.

"It seems to me Bob ought to go and land those chaps if there is a chance of doing it," Dick declared. "He would not need to be gone more than one night, would he?"

"No. Nevertheless, he would miss the morning wireless," returned Mr. Crowninshield. "Should there be important news we should not get it."

"It is a pity you boys can't take a message," Nancy remarked, turning toward her brother and Walter. "If you only had your Morse code learned you might be quite some good to us now."

"I wish I had whooped up on it faster," bewailed Dick, with engaging candor. "I'm an awful rotter--plain lazy, I guess."

"Well, I don't know but we'd better let Bob go, all things considered," observed Mr. Crowninshield, who had been quietly thinking the matter over.

"I say Bob goes, too," reiterated Dick. "It is worth something to put such fellows as those dog thieves behind the bars."

"You can connect with the Fall River boat or one passing through the Canal and be in New York in the morning, Bob," the elder man asserted. "Lyman will meet you, hustle things along, and send you home on the noon train. With Dick's racing car to pick you up somewhere along the line there is no reason why we should not have you back here before another morning. You've no time to spare, though, for lingering and discussing wireless and its wonders. Trot along and pack up your duds and get some luncheon. I'll call up Wheeler and have him ready to carry you to the train. Do not bother your head about connections; I will look up everything and tell you exactly what to do."

In a flurry of anticipation off hastened Bob.

"Gee! Isn't it the limit that we haven't brains enough to get O'Connel?" murmured Dick to Walter in a disgusted whisper. "I ought to have duffed in harder on the blamed code. But I thought there was no hurry. We seemed to have all summer to learn it."

"Maybe he won't call," His Highness suggested hopefully.

"I hope to blazes he doesn't," was the retort. "I'd feel cheap as dirt to have that ticker go clicking out a message and I not be able to get a word of it."