There he found the buzzer of his little desk-telephone intermittently
calling him.
"Yes, hello?" he answered, receiver at ear, as he sat down in the
swivel-chair of aluminum with its hydrogen cushion.
The voice of the wireless man, Menendez, reached him. In a soft,
Spanish-accented kind of drawl, Menendez said:
"Just picked up two important radios, sir."
"Well? What are they?"
"International Air Board headquarters, in Washington, has been
notified of our getaway. They have sent out calls for all air-stations
in both America and Europe to put up scout-squadrons to watch for us."
"What else?"
"Two squadrons have been started westward across the Atlantic,
already, to capture or destroy us."
"Indeed? Where from?" The Master spoke coldly. This information, far
from seeming important to him as it had to Menendez, appeared the
veriest commonplace. It was nothing but what he had expected and
foreseen. He smiled grimly as he listened to the radio man's answer:
"One squadron has started from Queenstown. The other from the
Azores--from St. Michaels."
"Anything else?"
"Well, sir, now and then I can get a few words they're sending from
plane to plane--or from plane to headquarters.
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