Roy’s brow wrinkled. What could he do? “If only I had a direction finder like the one the government gave us during the spy hunt,” he sighed, “I’d locate the _Merrimack_ quick.”
Again he called. “KQM de WNA. How are my signals now?”
“WNA de KQM. Sharper than ever. We must be very close.”
“Sure. Can’t you hear us? We can hear you.”
Roy laid down his receivers and opened the door. Faintly he heard the booming of the _Merrimack’s_ whistle. Then it came with startling distinctness. A third time it sounded apparently in the far, far distance. From what direction the sound came Roy had not the slightest idea. The fog now muffled, now magnified the sound, which seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.
An idea flashed into Roy’s head. He leaped back to his operating table.
“KQM de WNA,” he flashed. “Is there any way you can signal me and blow your whistle at the same time?” he asked.
“Yes,” came the answer. “The captain and I will set our watches together and send the two signals simultaneously. I’ll send three V’s. Listen.”
Roy sprang up and opened his door, then leaped back to his operating table. He clamped on his receivers, laid his watch on the table before him, and watched it in breathless expectation.
His heart beat like a trip-hammer. The blood pounded in his brain. His face was flushed with excitement. Somewhere out there in the fog the great steamship was rushing toward the _Lycoming_. She might be a mile away, she might be three hundred yards. The two might crash before ever he heard the signals he was waiting for. Tense, rigid, yet inwardly aquiver, Roy laid his finger on his key, ready to sound the SOS. Then he listened. For what seemed an age he listened. The wind shrieked and howled. The _Lycoming’s_ whistle boomed. The windows rattled. The rain beat a tattoo on the roof. But no wireless signal greeted Roy’s ears. He could hardly hold himself in his chair. Then it came. “V--V--V,” went the signal. Roy noted the position of the second-hand on his watch and waited breathlessly for the sound of the _Merrimack’s_ whistle.
One second passed--two--three--four--five.
“Mmmmmmmmm!” came the roar of the _Merrimack’s_ whistle.
“Five seconds,” said Roy. “She’s almost a mile away. Thank God.”