he said. “We could discuss the question of the reward separately. Signed by Mr. Thomas in Balttin.”
“H’m,” said Prokop, possessed by a sudden serious suspicion, “that such a personal . . . unreliable . . . fantastic report should suffice for the International Wireless Corporation.”
“I beg your pardon,” retorted Sir Reginald, “needless to say we have received very precise reports regarding certain experiments in Balttin”
“Aha! from a certain Saxon laboratory assistant, eh?”
“No. From our own representative. I’ll read you it now.” Sir Reginald again rummaged in his papers. “Here we are. ‘Dear Sir, the local stations have so far been unable to overcome the disturbances in question. Attempts at using greater power for transmission purposes have completely failed. I have received a report from a reliable informant to the effect that the military works in Balttin have acquired a certain quantity of some substance’”
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” said Prokop, and the waiter entered with a visiting card: “Some gentleman is asking.”
On the card were the words:
MR. CARSON
Balttin
“Show him in,” said Prokop, suddenly violently angry and completely ignoring Sir Reginald’s gesture of protest.
