It was so quiet that Prokop could hear the ticking of Carson’s watch.
“Tchah!” sighed Mr. Carson and rummaged desperately with his hand in his brush of red hair.
“What does it mean?” Prokop burst out.
Mr. Carson only shrugged his shoulders. “And what did you,” he said, “what did you think yourself when it exploded . . . ‘by itself,’ eh?”
“Nothing,” replied Prokop evasively. “I didn’t speculate . . . so far.”
Mr. Carson mumbled something uncomplimentary.
“That is,” Prokop corrected himself, “I thought that perhaps . . . it was done by electro-magnetic waves.”
“Aha! Electro-magnetic waves. We thought so too. A splendid idea, only idiotic. Unfortunately completely idiotic. So.”
Prokop was completely at a loss.
“To begin with,” continued Mr. Carson, “wireless waves don’t pass over the world only on Tuesdays and Fridays at half-past ten! And secondly, my friend, you must imagine that we at once experimented accordingly. With short, long, all possible waves. And your Krakatit didn’t alter that much,” and he indicated a minute spot on his own nail. “But on Tuesdays and Fridays at half-past ten it conceived the idea of exploding ‘by itself.’ And do you know what besides?”
Prokop of course did not. “This. For some time . . . about six months or something of the sort . . . the European wireless stations have been horribly annoyed. Something is interfering with
