the largest calibre issued by a civilized people. Birrell
fell upon the boy's shoulders, Herbert twisted the gun from
his fingers and hurled it through the window, and almost as
quickly hurled himself down the steps of the tower. Birrell
leaped after him. Ford remained only long enough to shout:
"Don't touch that instrument! If you attempt to send a
message through, we will shoot. We go to cut the wires!"

For a minute, the boy in the tower sat rigid, his ears
strained, his heart beating in sharp, suffocating stabs.
Then, with his left arm raised to guard his face, he sank to
his knees and, leaning forward across the table, inviting as
he believed his death, he opened the circuit and through the
night flashed out a warning to his people.

When they had taken their places in the car, Herbert touched
Ford on the shoulder.

"Your last remark," he said, " was that what we wanted was a
live one."

"Don't mention it!" said Ford. "He jammed that gun half down
my throat. I can taste it still. Where do we go from here?"

"According to the route we mapped out this afternoon," said
Herbert, "We are now scheduled to give exhibitions at the
coast towns of Salthouse and Weybourne, but--"

"Not with me!" exclaimed Birrell fiercely. "Those towns have
been tipped off by now by Blakeney and Cley, and the Boy