as he stood with bent head and fixed eyes, listening, while the seconds dragged slowly by. "If we can only get her!" he repeated less hopefully.
He turned to his switch again, and still again the great blue spark erupted and crashed and volleyed from the discharging-rods. Then again he waited and listened, the lines on his face deepening in the hard light from the electrics above him.
"The night's against us!" he exclaimed almost despairingly as the switch came purringly down on the contact-pins and his hand once more went out to his key-lever. His fingers closed on the handle, but the intended call was not sent. No nervous flash of blue flame bridged the waiting spark-gap. For even before he turned, McKinnon knew that his cabin door had been suddenly opened and that a squat and thick-set figure stood there peering in at him.
"What're you workin' that key for?" demanded the figure. It was the thunderous voice of the ship's master, Captain Yandel. McKinnon remembered that he must have overheard the spark-kiss at the masthead, from the bridge.
"What're you tryin' to send out there?" repeated the officer.
"I'm getting distances from a Standard Oil
