The Ocean Wireless Boys and the Lost Liner Part 3

That some link existed between Jarrold and the _Endymion_ was, of course, plain. But just why he should have vanished so quickly when the Panama official appeared, was not equally evident. Jack had a pa.s.senger list in front of him, stuck in the frame designed for it.

He ran his eyes over it. Yes, there was the name:

Mr. James Jarrold, N. Y.-Stateroom 44.

Miss Jessica Jarrold, N. Y.-Stateroom 56.

Suddenly Jack's roving glance caught the name of Colonel Minturn, U. S.

A., stateroom 46. So the colonel's stateroom adjoined that of the man who appeared to be so anxious to avoid him! Another thing that Jack noted was that, although the ship was crowded and a stateroom for a single pa.s.senger called for a substantial extra payment, both Mr.

Jarrold and the army man had exclusive quarters. In the case of Colonel Minturn this was, of course, understandable, but Jarrold? Jack looked at the latter's name again, and now he noticed something else that had escaped him before.

Stateroom 44, the room occupied by Jarrold and adjoining Colonel Minturn's, had evidently been changed at the last moment, for originally, as a crossed-out entry showed, Jarrold had been given stateroom 53. A pen line had been drawn through this entry by the purser evidently, when Jarrold had changed his room.

Jack happened to know that Colonel Minturn had come on board at the last moment, so, then, Jarrold had changed his stateroom only when he had found out definitely that Colonel Minturn's room was No. 46. There must be something more than a mere coincidence in this, thought Jack, but, puzzle as he would, he could not arrive at what it meant.

He was still trying to piece it all out when suddenly the door, which he had closed to bar out the flying spray, was flung open.

A gust of wind and a flurry of spume entered, striking him in the face like a cold plunge.

"Bother that catch," exclaimed Jack, swinging round; "I'll have to get the carpenter to fix it to-morrow, I--"

But it was not a weakened catch that had given way. The door had been opened by the hand of a man, who, enveloped in a raincoat and topped by a golf cap, now stood in the doorway.

The man was James Jarrold.

CHAPTER V

THE INTERRUPTED MESSAGE

Jack sprang to his feet, but the other held out a withholding hand.

"Stay right where you are, Mr. Ready," he said. "I couldn't sleep and I decided to sit out your watch up here with you. You've no objection?"

"I'm sorry," said Jack, for after all Jarrold was a pa.s.senger and it would not do to offend him if he could help it, "but it is against the rules for pa.s.sengers to linger about the wireless room."

"Well, I can write a message, then. You have no objection to that?"

Jack was in a quandary. He knew perfectly well that Jarrold was there for some purpose of his own, but what it was-except that its aim was sinister-he could not hazard a conjecture.

"Of course the office is always open for business," he rejoined, pushing a stack of sending blanks toward Jarrold.

"Of course," replied Jarrold, sinking into a chair beside the young operator. "By the way, nothing from the _Endymion_ yet?"

"That is the business of the line so far, sir," replied Jack. "If it is anything of general interest, you will find the notice posted on the bulletin board at the head of the saloon stairs in the morning."

Jarrold made no reply to this, but sat absent-mindedly tapping his gleaming white teeth with a gold-cased pencil as if considering what he should write on the blank paper before him. He appeared to be in no hurry to begin, but fumbling for his cigar case, produced a big black weed and leisurely lighted it, puffing out the heavy smoke with an abstracted air.

"Sorry, sir," struck in Jack sharply, "but you can't smoke in here, sir."

"Why not?"

"It is against the rules."

"Where do you see such a rule? Reckon you made it, eh? Too much of a molly-coddle to smoke, hey?"

The man's tone was aggressive, offensive. The subtle objection to him that Jack had felt when they first met was growing with every minute.

But he kept his temper. It was with an effort, however.

"There are the rules on the wall," he said.

"Humph," said Jarrold, with a disgusted grunt. "In that case I'll throw my cigar away. But one always helps me to think."

"Personally, I've always heard that tobacco dulls the brain," retorted Jack, "but never having tried it, and not wanting to, I don't know how true it is."

Jarrold made no reply to this, but a contemptuous snort. He unfolded his big, loose-knit frame from the chair and went toward the door. He flung the cigar into the night. As he did so, there was a blinding flash of lightning. The rain was coming in torrents now, but the wind and sea were dying down.

The man came back to his chair and again appeared to be considering the message he should send out.

"I have my doubts about getting a message through to-night at all,"

hinted Jack. "The rain doesn't always interfere with the Hertzian waves but sometimes it does. Maybe you would better wait till morning."

"I'll send it when I choose," was the growled reply.

At that instant Jack's hand suddenly shot out across the desk in front of him and turned the switch that sent the current into the detectors.

Faintly, out of the storm, some whispered dots and dashes had breathed against his ear-drums. Somebody was trying to send a radio.

Jarrold's lounging figure stiffened up quickly. He had seen Jack's sudden motion and guessed its meaning. He leaned forward eagerly while the young operator tuned his instruments till the message beat more strongly on his ears.

Through the storm the message came raggedly but it was intelligible.

"_Tropic Queen! Tropic Queen! Tropic Queen!_"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" flung back the boy at the liner's key. "Who is that?"

"Are you the _Tropic Queen_?"

The sending of the call across the storm was uncertain and hesitating; not the work of a competent operator, but still understandable.

"Yes, this is the _Tropic Queen_."

The answer that came made Jack thrill up and down his spine.

"This is the _Endymion_!"

Then came a pause that vibrated. Jack pounded his key furiously. The sending on the other craft was bad, and the waves that were beating against the aerials of the _Tropic Queen_ were weak. Although rain does not necessarily hamper the power of the Hertzian billows, and all things being equal the transmission of messages is clearer at night, yet certain combinations may result in poor service.