"I can not explain it scientifically," admitted Eldridge, "but I can
surmise that the fact either purposely or accidentally has to do either
with this instrument's location or with some slight and undetermined
peculiarity of its tuning."
"You could easily tell which by moving the instrument to another station
where they aren't getting the messages now," suggested Darrow lazily.
"Certainly," snapped Eldridge, "any child could deduce that. But I fail to
see the use or necessity for the determination at all unless in a spirit
of frivolous play. Our task is not to discover where the messages can be
received, but whence they are sent."
He gazed frostily at the man who had interrupted him. Darrow smiled softly
back.
"How far will your instrument carry in sending?" Eldridge asked Simmons.
"Its extreme is about two hundred miles."
"Then we can safely assume that a circle drawn with a two-hundred-mile
radius would contain this man you call Monsieur X"--the newspapers had
adopted Darrow's nickname for the Unknown--"since you have succeeded in
communicating with him."
"Marvelous," said Darrow to Jack--but under his breath.
"As the sending of Monsieur X is faint, it follows that he is somewhere
near the periphery of this circle, or that he is possessed of a primitive
or weak instrument. By the doctrine of probabilities we should be
justified in concluding against the latter supposition.
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