Tom Tiddler's Island, стр. 24

Northfleet shook his head.

“Never bothered with them. Is it any good?”

This was the lead Colin had wanted. He switched on the set.

“You read Morse,” he said over his shoulder as he began to search. “Unless one does, shortwave work’s a bit limited. There! Listen to that.”

Northfleet gave his attention to the signals for a few moments.

“It’s not over-thrilling,” he confessed. “What’s it all about? I can hear him repeating the same thing time after time: ‘GKT de GFWV. QTC5.’ It doesn’t excite me much.”

“It’s the Majestic calling up the Portishead station and saying she’s got five telegrams to transmit,” Colin explained, with modest pride in his knowledge.

He glanced at his watch and fell to adjusting the dials afresh until the hiss of a carrier-wave came from the loud-speaker.

“Just hold on a jiffy . . . Ah, there’s something plainer.”

Suddenly the clear voice spoke as on the previous night, and Colin, having adjusted the dials, swung round to watch the effect of the message on Northfleet.

“Hello! Hello, London! Attention! I am calling and testing . . . testing and calling. I shall repeat this message night by night at ten, eleven, and twelve o’clock. Hello! I am testing. I shall repeat this message each night. Attention!”

Then once more the slow Morse transmission began:

“T e i i l  l f i l h  t c e t u  f d h s o . . .”

Northfleet’s habitual control over his features had failed him when the voice began to speak. It was the merest flicker of an expression; yet Colin saw something which made him suspect that his companion had been startled by that message out of the void. But as the succession of Morse letters came into the signal, Colin guessed that they conveyed no more to Northfleet than they did to himself.

“Rum things on the short waves at times,” he commented as he switched off abruptly in the middle of the message. “He repeats that, just as you heard it, night after night. Took a copy of it myself, just for practice. Must be testing his transmission with some pal, I expect, just as he says at the start.”

Whatever the message had conveyed to Northfleet, he made no effort to share his information with Colin.

“It seems a queer enough jumble,” he said in an indifferent tone. “How does it look when you get it down on paper?”

Colin was acute enough to see that Northfleet, despite his assumed incuriosity, was angling for the transcription of the message. But if Northfleet could hold back information, so could Colin. He checked his movement towards the note-book containing his copy.

“Oh, just as weird as when you hear it,” he said carelessly. “No meaning in it at all. Expect he’s just transmitting letters at random to make a decent length of signal.”

If Northfleet was disappointed at a failure to secure the transcript, he betrayed no sign of it in his expression.

“I don’t know anything about the short, waves,” he admitted, “but that sounded a fairly powerful signal.”

“It is,” Colin agreed. “In fact, the other night, when general conditions were pretty bad, it came through as clear as a bell. He gives the call-sign HSI-314, at the tail-end, if that suggests anything to you.”

“No—nothing whatever,” said Northfleet promptly.

Colin began to feel that he had done well in not being too ready to consult Northfleet. This little episode, which he had planned as an experiment, had revealed one thing very plainly: Northfleet did not intend to put his cards on the table for the asking. He had spotted something in that short-wave message which Colin himself had missed, for some reason or other; and yet he had shut up as tight as an oyster about it, didn’t even admit that he’d heard anything to interest him. But for that flicker of interest on his face at the opening words, Colin would never have guessed that the message meant anything to him at all. Not that it had meant so very much after all, apparently. Colin guessed that the jumble of Morse conveyed as little to Northfleet as it did to himself. The man’s attitude had given that away, although he had kept his face straight. The whole pose of his body had betrayed his alertness when the message began, but there had been an obvious slackening of attention when the incomprehensible portion was reached. And he had made no complaint when Colin switched off—of malice aforethought—in the very middle of the transmission. If he had been able to read the stuff and understand it as he went along, he’d have wanted to hear the lot, Colin conjectured. And yet he was interested in it, or he wouldn’t have tried to get a look at the copy. Well, if he wanted that, he’d have to put some of his cards on the table. Nothing for nothing was going to be Colin’s motto in this affair. The Northfleet method had uncovered a streak of obstinacy in Colin’s character.

“Here we are,” Jean said, as she opened the door of the lounge. “Miss Arrow won’t stay a minute longer, she says. We’ve arranged to bathe off the pier before breakfast, Colin, if you can creep out of bed early enough. And perhaps you’ll come too, Mr. Northfleet? Or is it too much trouble to come across the island? Anyway, we shall expect you if we see you.”

She turned to Hazel, who had followed her into the room.

“Are you sure you won’t need n wrap to go home in? I can let you have one, if it’s any use.”

Hazel shook her head.

“It’s quite a warm night, thanks. Now I must really go,” she protested. “You can’t imagine how I’ve enjoyed myself this evening. And I’m looking forward to some tennis, Mr. Trent. You’ve got perfect courts here. After all these months on Ruff a, I’m beginning to feel quite civilised again, now that Mrs. Trent can tell me something about shops, and theatres, and concerts.”

From the loggia Jean and Colin