A messenger came forward to enquire his business, but was forestalled by a keen little man with tanned face and twinkling eyes. "Sailor" was written on every line of his mahogany face. "Hullo, my noble policeman," he greeted T. B. "Who is the victim--the First Sea Lord or the Controller of the Victualling Department?"
"To be precise, Almack," said T. B., "I have come to arrest Reform, which I gather----"
"No politics," smiled Captain John Almack, R.N. "What is the game?"
"It is what our mutual friend Napoleon would call a negative problem in strategy," the Assistant-Commissioner replied. "I want to ask an ethereal friend, who exists somewhere in space, to come in and be killed."
Captain Almack led the way up a flight of stairs.
"We got a request from your Commissioner; and, of course, the Lords of the Admiralty are only too pleased to put the instrument at your disposal."
"They instructed me to keep a watchful eye on you. We have missed things since your last visit."
"That sounds like a jovial lie," said T. B. frankly.
In the orderly instrument room they found an operator in attendance, and T. B. lost no time.
"Call N.H.C," he said; and, whilst the instrument clicked and snapped obedient to the man's hand, T. B. opened his little exercise book and composed a message. He had finished his work long before any answer came to the call. For half-an-hour they waited whilst the instrument clicked monotonously. "Dash-dot, dot-dot-dot, dash-dot-dash-dot."
"Dash-dot, dot-dot-dot, dash-dot-dash-dot."
Then suddenly the operator stopped, and there came a new sound.
"Take this." T. B. handed him a slip of paper.
As the man sent the message out with emphatic tappings, Captain Almack took the translation that T. B. handed to him.
"To N.H.C. There is trouble here. I must see you. Important. Can you meet me in Paris to-morrow?"
After this message had gone through there was a wait of five minutes. Then the answer came, and the man at the instrument wrote down unintelligible words which T. B. translated.
"Impossible. Come to M. Will meet S.E. Have you got the book?"
"Reply 'Podaba,'" instructed T. B., spelling the word. "Now send this." He handed another slip of paper across the table, and passed the translation back to the man behind him.