At eight ten his telephone bell for the first time jangled its summons.
McCarthy answered it.
"I'm Simmons, the wireless operator," the small voice told him. "Say!
There's a lot of these fool messages in the air again. You know what they
said last night about six o'clock, and what happened."
"Let's have 'em," growled McCarthy.
"Here she is: 'McCarthy, will you do as I tell you? Answer. Remember the
sign at six o'clock.' It's signed 'M.'"
"Where did that come from?" asked the boss.
"Can't tell, but somewheres a long ways off."
"How do you know that?"
"By the sound."
"How far--about?"
"Might be anywhere."
"Can you get an answer back?"
"I think so. Can't tell whether my spark will reach that far. I can send
out a call for 'M.'"
"Well, send this," said McCarthy. "'Go to hell.'"
On the evening of the phenomena afore mentioned, Percy Darrow had
returned to his apartments, where he had dressed unusually early, and
by daylight. This was because he had a dinner engagement up-town. It
was an informal engagement for a family dinner at seven o'clock; but
Percy had been requested by one of the members to come at about six.
This was because the other members would presumably be dressing between
six and seven.
The young man found a fire blazing on the hearth, although the evening was
warm. A graceful girl sat looking into the flames. She did not rise as the
scientist entered, but held out her hand with an air of engaging
frankness.
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