Читать книгу The Phantom Launch - Aidan de Brune - Страница 5

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CONVINCED that the Phantom Launch had sought shelter in Middle Harbour, Constable Phelps hurried back to Balmoral to organise means to close the waters at the Spit. A little more than a mile up from the Harbour entrance a long finger of sand stretches from the west shore out into the waters, almost to the opposite shore. This finger of land is known as "The Spit," and the continuing bridge passes the tram-lines from North Sydney to Manly.

The bridge, from the end of the Spit to the north-east shore forms almost a gate across Middle Harbour. The bridge is low, and only the smallest boats can pass beneath; the larger vessels requiring the spans of the bridge to be lifted. The Phantom Launch, however, could pass under the bridge without difficulty, for it had neither masts nor structure above the deck.

The Harbour contains numerous inlets, islets, coves, and creek mouths, providing a multitude of hiding-places for any small boat wishing to avoid attention. There is little settlement around the coast-line of the Harbour, and most of the waterways and islets are in a wild state.

Sydney Lister slowly followed the constable along the cliff paths, towards Balmoral. At the time he had pointed out the Phantom Launch to Phelps he had been possessed by the spirit of the chase. Now that had seen the mystery boat enter the natural trap of Middle Harbour, and the door closed upon her, he to look at the matter from a more sentimental angle.

So far as he was aware the crew of the Phantom Launch was only guilty of moving a passenger from a mail boat before pratique had been granted by the Customs and Health authorities. True, they had made a bad precedent; one to be discouraged by fine, and even imprisonment, but certainly not criminal. To the average person it was the ordinary game of wits played by many law-abiding citizens when they return to their native land after a foreign tour. Customs charges and regulations are fair game. There is an element of sport in defeating the well-trained officers—the "sin" element of the contest being in discovery.

When the facts of the abduction of thee passenger from the Arathusa became public property there would be a general laugh at the "slick" manner in which the Customs had been evaded. Almost certainly there would be imitators; the matter ending, probably, in Customs officers accompanying overseas ships while they were in Australian waters. The Customs would press for the discovery and capture of the Phantom Launch and her crew. The eyes of the continent would be turned towards Middle Harbour, while the Water Police searched the many miles of waterways. Public sympathy would be on the side of the hunted. and when the search ended in the inevitable discovery of the Phantom Launch, her crew would be elevated to the heroic.

Lister passed through the little town of Balmoral, and on the outskirts of the town, came to a small cottage, within a hundred yards of the northern end of the bay. It was nearly two years since he had first rented the place for the summer. The house had suited him, and with a few alterations he found the winter months comfortable in it. He had purchased the place, and was making it his home.

A well-known newspaper proprietor had described Sydney Lister as "a good newspaperman spoilt." Asked to define his statement, he added:—"The fellow's got too much money. A journalist in this country is only good when he's dead broke and up against it."

Lister passed into the cottage. A lamp was burning on the table in the front room, and beside it a tray holding glasses and a soda syphon. The spirit-cabinet had been moved from the miniature sideboard, and stood beside the tray. Over the back of a dilapidated lounge-chair hung his working coat. Lister dropped his hat on the table and slipped into the comfortable old coat. He mixed a drink, and carried it to the rear of the cottage.

The back door opened on to a sandy yard. From the back step a bricked path had been laid to a well-built shed, standing along the rear fence. Lister went to the shed and opened it with a key, hung on his watch-chain. The interior of the shed was fitted up somewhat similar to the wireless room of an ocean liner. A door on the right led to another room, in which stood a small, powerful oil engine and dynamo, carefully shielded to prevent interference.

Lister spent much of his time in this wireless room, sometimes remaining there the better part of the night. A great deal of the apparatus in the room was unique, built by himself, many of the instruments his own invention. Against the left wall stood an eight-valve receiving set, one of the most powerful In Australia. It had become a habit to spend the early hours of the morning by this set, idly travelling from length to length, and from power to power.

During the past three nights he had been puzzled by certain sounds that come over the air, to be caught on his delicate instruments. At first they had seemed to come from afar but now he believed they originated within a few miles from his room. They were not spoken words: merely a regular "tick tick," like the workings of a watch, suspended close against a microphone. Another thing, they never came on the same wave-length. Since he had first heard them they had covered quite an appreciable number of lengths, often three or four the same night.

Sitting down at the eight valve receiver, Lister tuned-in to 37 metres, the wave length on which he had detected the "tick-tick" the previous night. There was no response, and he slowly tuned to a higher wave. At 56 metres, he caught the first "tick," and commenced to amplify, until he had the sound filling the little room. They had no meaning; entirely regular, they went on for over halt an hour, with a monotonous regularity that bored.

Someone must be playing a joke. The tick of a watch on the air could only be a signal, unless the sender was altogether inconsequent. It might be possible to discover what the signals meant. Going into the machine-room, Lister started the engine. Hanging his watch before a very delicate microphone, Lister transmitted the sound a few metres higher than the strange ticking. He lowered the wave length gradually until the sound of his watch mingled with the strange "tick" on his receiver. All of a sudden the strange watch ceased to tick. Lister held the signal. For a space of twenty the strange "tick" came again.

The "tick" was certainly a signal. Lister waited a few minutes, and then placed the tick of his watch on the air at 70 meters. Still the "tick-tick" continued. Very slowly he tuned down to a lower wave-length. At 65 metres, the tick suddenly stopped. Lister held the length. For a space of twenty seconds nothing happened. He could hear the gentle "tap-tap" of his watch, swinging before the microphone. The strange "tick" had ceased. With a quiet motion, Lister switched off the transmitter. He rose from his seat, and crossed to the eight-valve set. His fingers were on the switch, when a low whisper crept through the room.

"Silver Swan! Silver Swan!" it was difficult to discover whether the speaker was a man or a woman, the whisper was so delicate.

There was an interval of silence. Again came the small, faint voice:—"Silver Swan! Silver Swan!"

The interval of silence recurred. Lister stood beside the receiver, undecided. Someone was calling, and he did not know how to answer.

Silver Swan! What meaning had the words? It might be a recognition code—the identification words of some experimenter. Around Sydney were scattered quite a number of experimental stations. At one time or another, Lister had been in communication with most of them. Sometimes one of them would put on the air a code word for identification, but mainly the owner of the station used his name.

"Silver Swan!" Lister's mind leaped to the scene on the cliffs of Middle Harbour. Again he saw the wall of water driving through the outer Heads towards where Phelps and he stood. Again he saw the swirling waters swing to the left, and behind them the long, low shadow of the Phantom Launch. Surely, it might be said to resemble in some faint way a Silver Swan, homing in the late hours of the night.

Automatically he stepped to the transmitter, and switched on power. Again he threw on the air the slow "tick-tick" of his watch. Allowing an interval of exactly 20 seconds to pass, he switched off and listened. A long pause, and the words came again to him.

"Silver Swan! Silver Swan!"

Lister had recovered his watch from the microphone, and had placed it in his pocket. Again he threw in the power, first switching the microphone out of circuit. With hasty fingers he reduced amplification to normal, and switched in again.

"Silver Swan! Silver Swan!"

"Police guarding the Spit bridge. Silver Swan caught."

What impulse caused him to couple "Silver Swan" with the Phantom Launch? Lister spoke without thought. He had deliberately conveyed to the unknown listener the fact that the police were aware of the identity of the Silver Swan with the boat they had seen rushing to its refuge in Middle Harbour.

For a long space there was silence. Lister thought he had frightened the speaker away. Again he switched on power and bent towards the microphone. He was about to call when the loud speaker came to life. It was the ticking of a watch. Lister sat back in his chair and counted the ticks. At the 56th tick the sounds stopped. An interval of silence.

"Thanks, stranger." The voice was still the strange, low, sweet sound. It was followed by light, girlish laughter.