perforated holes in one face. Carelessly he tossed it into the top
drawer of the chest under some old rubbish, shut the drawer tight
and ran a flexible wire out of the back of the chest. It was a
simple matter to lay the wire through some bins next the storeroom
and then around to the passageway down to the subterranean den of
Brixton. There Craig deposited a little black box about the size
of an ordinary kodak.

For an hour or so we sat with Brixton. Neither of us said
anything, and Brixton was uncommunicatively engaged in reading a
railroad report. Suddenly a sort of muttering, singing noise
seemed to fill the room.

"There it is!" cried Brixton, clapping the book shut and looking
eagerly at Kennedy.

Gradually the sound increased in pitch. It seemed to come from the
ceiling, not from any particular part of the room, but merely from
somewhere overhead. There was no hallucination about it. We all
heard. As the vibrations increased it was evident that they were
shaping themselves into words.

Kennedy had grasped the black box the moment the sound began and
was holding two black rubber disks to his ears.

At last the sound from overhead became articulate It was weird,
uncanny. Suddenly a voice said distinctly: "Let American dollars
beware. They will not protect American daughters."

Craig had dropped the two ear-pieces and was gazing intently at