Mr. Sanford Quest sat in his favourite easy-chair, his cigar inclined
towards the left hand corner of his mouth, his attention riveted upon a
small instrument which he was supporting upon his knee. So far as his
immobile features were capable of expression, they betrayed now, in the
slight parting of his lips and the added brightness of his eyes, symptoms
of a lively satisfaction. He glanced across the room to where Lenora was
bending over her desk.

"We've done it this time, young woman," he declared triumphantly. "It's
all O.K., working like a little peach."

Lenora rose and came towards him. She glanced at the instrument which
Quest was fitting into a small leather case.

"Is that the pocket wireless?"

He nodded.

"I've had Morrison out at Harlem all the morning to test it," he told her.
"I've sent him at least half-a-dozen messages from this easy-chair, and
got the replies. How are you getting on with the code?"

"Not so badly for a stupid person," Lenora replied. "I'm not nearly so
quick as Laura, of course, but I could make a message out if I took time
over it."

Laura, who had been busy with some papers at the further end of the room,
came over and joined them.

"Say, it's a dandy little affair, that, Mr. Quest," she exclaimed. "I had