CHAPTER III
The junior operator toyed with the heavy transmitting key while PeterMoore, who knew the behavior of his apparatus as he would know thecaprices of an old friend, adjusted helix-plugs, started themotor-generator, and satisfied the steel-eyed radio inspector that hiswave decrement was exactly what it ought to be.
Then the inspector grunted suspiciously and wanted to know if theauxiliary batteries were properly charged. With a faint smile, Moorehooked up the auxiliary apparatus, tapped the key, and a crinkly bluespark snapped between the brass points above the fat rubber coil.
"I reckon she'll do," observed the inspector. "Aerial don't leak, doesit?"
"No," said Peter.
The government man took a final look at the glittering instruments, anddeparted. Wherewith the junior operator swung half around in theswivel-chair and exposed to Peter an expression of mild imploration.Two gray lids over cavernous sockets lifted and lowered upon shiningblack eyes, one of which seemed to lack focus. Peter recalled thenthat the Chief had said something about a second operator having onlyone human eye, the other being glass.
"This is your first trip?"
The sallow face was inclined, and the pallid lips moved dryly.
"I just came from the school. I'm pretty green. You see----"
"I see. We'd better let me take the first trick. I'll sit in tillmidnight. After that there's very little doing. You may have to relaya position report or so. Be sure and don't work on navy time. TheChief will watch you closely for long-distance. The farther you work,the better he'll like it. How's the air? Have you listened in?"
"Do you mean--static? I heard a little. Seemed pretty far away,though."
Peter adjusted the nickeled straps about his head and pressed therubber disks tight to his ears. He tilted his head slightly. Adistant but harsh rasping, as of countless needle-points grating onglass, occurred in the head phones. This was caused by charges ofelectricity in the air, known to wireless men as "static." Percolatingthrough the scratching was a clear, bell-like note. The San Pedrostation was having something to say to a destroyer off the coast.
With delicate fingers Peter raised the tuning-knob a few points. Dale,the junior operator, hands clutched behind him, stared with the fearfuladoration of an apprentice. He seemed to be making a mental notationof every move that Peter made, for future reference.
"Ah--do you mind if I ask a few questions? You see, I'm kind of green."
"Go ahead!" Peter said cordially.
"Where do I eat? With the crew? I hear that lots of these ships makeyou eat with the crew."
"No. In the main dining-saloon. Mr. Blanchard, the purser, will takecare of you. See him at six thirty."
A deep monstrous shudder, arising to a clamor, half roar, half shriek,issued from the boilers of the _Vandalia_.
"It's rather interesting to watch us pull out," said Peter when thenoise had ceased. "But be careful. There's no rail around this deck."
He was on his hands and knees at the motor-generator with a pad ofsandpaper between his fingers when the tremulous voice of the junioroperator sounded in the doorway. "Mr. Moore, there's some excitementon the dock."
Peter followed the narrow shoulders to the starboard side and lookeddown. The _Vandalia_ was warping out from the pierhead with a sobbingtug at her stern. He noted that the head-lines were still fast. Astraggling line of passengers' friends, wives, husbands, andsweethearts was moving slowly toward the end of the pier, for a finalparting wave.
Something seemed to be wrong at the shore end of the gangplank, for,despite the fact that the ship was swinging out, the plank was stillup. In the midst of an excited crowd a taxicab purred and smoked.There was a general parting in the crowd as the door was flung open.Two figures emerged, were lost from sight, and reappeared at the footof the plank. An incoherent something was roared from the bridge.
One of the figures appeared to be struggling, clutching at the rail.For an instant she seemed to glance in Peter's direction. But her facecould hardly be seen, for it was shrouded by a heavy gray veil. A grayhood covered her hair, and a long cloak reached to her shoe-tops.
Patiently urging her was a Chinese woman in silk jacket, trousers, andjeweled slippers. A customs officer tried to break through the mob,but somehow was held back. The gray-hooded figure suddenly seemed tobecome limp, and the Chinese woman half lifted, half pushed her theremaining distance to the promenade deck.
Peter was then conscious of a staring, lifeless eye fixed upon his.
"What do you make of it, Mr. Moore?" the junior operator wanted to know.
"Of that?" said Peter. "Nothing--nothing at all. By the way, I forgotto tell you that the captain has issued strict orders forbiddingsubofficers to use the starboard decks. Always, when you're goingforward, or aft, walk on the port side."
Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China Page 3
