He waited for a reply. But there was none. The cable that ran for three hundred miles, or so, beneath the black, storm-tossed waters of the North Sea was silent. "Curious!" he muttered to himself. "Stendel is generally on the alert. Why doesn't he answer?" "M.X.Q.Q." he repeated with a quick, impatient touch. "M.X.Q.Q." Then he waited, but in vain. "Surely the cable, after the great cost to the Empire, has not broken down just at the very moment when we want it!" he exclaimed, speaking in German, as was his habit when excited. Again he sent the urgent call beneath the waters by the only direct means of communication between Britain's soil and that of her bitter enemy. But in Tom Small's stuffy little bedroom was a silence that seemed ominous. Outside could be heard the dull roar of the sea, the salt spray coming up almost to the door. But there was no answering click upon the instruments. The electric current from the rows of batteries hidden in the cellar was sufficient, for he had tested it before he had touched the key. "Tom," he shouted, summoning the old fisherman whom he had only a few moments before dismissed. "Yes, sir," replied the old fellow gruffly, as he stalked forward again, in his long, heavy sea-boots. "The cable's broken down, I believe! What monkey-tricks have you been playing--eh?" he cried angrily. "None, sir. None, I assure you. Ted tested at five o'clock this evening, as usual, and got an acknowledgment. The line was quite all right then." "Well, it isn't now," was Rodwell's rough answer, for he detected in the old man's face a secret gleaming satisfaction that no enemy message could be transmitted. "I believe you're playing us false, Small!" cried Rodwell, his eyes flashing angrily. "By Gad! if you have dared to do so you'll pay dearly for it--I warn you both! Now confess!" "I assure you, sir, that I haven't. I was in here when Ted tested, as he does each evening. All was working well then." The younger man, a tall, big-limbed, fair-haired toiler of the sea, in a fisherman's blouse of tanned canvas like his father, overhearing the conversation, entered the little room. "It was all right at five, sir. I made a call, and got the answer." "Are you sure it was answered--quite sure?" queried the man from London. "Positive, sir." "Then why in the name of your dear goddess Britannia, who thinks she rules the waves, can't I get a reply now?" demanded Rodwell furiously. "How can I tell, sir? I got signals--good strong signals."