The operator looked up at him beneath a green eyeshade and grinned crookedly. "Talking to 'em now," he said. The key flicked up and down, and a tiny dancing spark leaped into being and vanished beneath its contact-point. The wireless room was dark save for the bright, shaded light above the sending table. A file of sent messages by an elbow. A pad for messages received was by a hand. Stray wreaths of tobacco smoke floated about the room, leaping into view as they drifted beneath the lamp. "Is he bad?" asked the operator fascinatedly, his eyes fixed on his key. Bell felt his eyelids flicker. "Very bad," he said shortly. "They tell me," said the operator and shuddered, "your hands get working and you can't stop 'em.... I'm playing, I am! I'm playing The Master's game!" * * * * * The key stopped. He listened. "They're going to try to swoop over the ship and drop it," he said a moment later. "I don't think they can. But tell Ortiz they're going to try." Bell's eyes were narrow. It is not customary for a radio operator on a passenger ship to speak of an ex-Cabinet Minister of the Argentine Republic by his surname only. It bespeaks either impertinence or a certain very peculiar association. Bell frowned imperceptibly for an instant, thinking. "You've--had it?" he asked sharply. "God, no! I never took the chance! I saw the red spots once, and I went to Rib--Say! You got a password?" He was staring up at Bell. Bell shrugged. "I'm trying to help Senor Ortiz now." The operator continued to stare, his eyes full of suspicion. Then he grimaced. "All right. Go tell him they're going to drop it." * * * * * Bell went out. Gray fog, and washing seas, and the big ship ploughing steadily on toward the south.... The horn blared, startlingly loud and unspeakably doleful. Bell listened for other sounds. There were none. Down the steep ladder to the promenade deck. Paula Canalejas nodded to him. "I saw you speak to Senor Ortiz," she said quietly. "You see?" Bell was beginning to have a peculiar, horrible suspicion. It was incredible, but it was inevitable. "I think I see," he said harshly. "But I don't dare believe it. Keep quiet and don't speak to me unless I give you some sign it's safe! It's--hellish!" He went inside and swiftly down the stairs. He found a steward hesitating outside the door of Ortiz's cabin. He touched Bell's arm anxiously as he was about to go in. "Beg pardon, sir," he said, and stammered. "I--I heard Mr. Ortiz making some--very strange noises, sir. I--I thought he was sick...." "He is," said Bell grimly. "He told me he does not want a doctor, though. I'm looking after him." He closed the door behind him, and Ortiz grinned at him. It was a horrible, a terrible grin, and Ortiz fought it from his face with a terrific effort of will. There was foam about his lips. * * * * *