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Reeve, Arthur B. (Arthur Benjamin), 1880-1936

"Guy Garrick"


The thing is good over several hundred yards, perhaps miles,
sometimes. Only, I wish it would work both ways. I would like to
feel sure that Dillon gets me."
I looked at the simple little instrument with a sort of reverence,
for on it depended the momentous question of whether we should be
released in time to pursue the two who were escaping in the
automobile.
"You'll have to hurry," continued Garrick, speaking into his
transmitter. "Give the signal. Get the car ready. Anything, so
long as it is action. Use your own judgment."
There he was, flashing a message out of our prison by an invisible
ray that shot across the Cimmerian darkness to the point where we
knew that our friends were waiting anxiously. I could scarcely
believe it. But Garrick had the utmost faith in the ability of the
radiophone to make good.
"They MUST have started by this time," he cried, craning his neck
out of the window and looking in every direction.
Forbes was still rambling along, but Garrick was not paying any
attention to him.


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