He went to a cupboard at the end of his laboratory and rummaged among small boxes that stood on one shelf--no two boxes seeming to be of the same size. The upshot of this rummaging was that Bronson had to spend some time repiling the boxes after he had found the contact microphone he was seeking. Eventually, however, Ed Bronson was repumping the tube. Inside was the crystal phosphor and fastened to it was a sensitive contact microphone. Once more Bronson keyed the switches, adjusted focus, and intensity. Then, from the speaker of the amplifier connected to the contact microphone, there came a cacophony of noise, howling whistles, deep-throated hums, and a horde of middle-register tones. Not music, and far from it. Just random--somethings. Yet in the background, barely audible as such but most definitely identifiable, was the voice of a woman. Any speaker would have ceased had she known her efforts were thus wasted. It was indistinguishable and unintelligible save for a scattered word here and there, which was unmistakably in English. Ed Bronson thought that it was like trying to eavesdrop on a conversation in a boiler factory. * * * * * He wondered what radio program he had tapped in on. He turned his radio on, and scanned the bands, even listening to the weaker stations--which, of course were far from being as ragged as this, regardless of their weakness--but came to the conclusion that there was nothing on the air that corresponded to the voice of the woman that emerged from his kinescope testing tube. Bronson noted with questing interest that occasionally one or more of the interfering hoots, sirens and honks would cease for a moment or two. So also did the woman's voice. Ed prayed that when sufficient interference would cease, the woman would not choose that moment to cease also. He wanted to know more about this. There was more to it than met the eye. If he could identify the speaker he might be able to establish a means of communication. Location was also important. Furthermore, if this were telephone or radio, he had a new means of receiving both. If it were telephone and it worked on any or all, Ed Bronson had a gadget that would make him the bane of all lovers of secrecy--including espionage agents, who, of course, hate penetration of their own little conclaves as deeply as they try to penetrate others'. He--well, if it were radio he was intercepting he had nothing as interesting as a telephone tapping gadget. But.... The tones dropped in volume. A shrill whistle that made vicious interference with his hearing suddenly keyed off like the turning off of a light. A booming roar ceased also and others of less importance dropped or died. The cumulative effect of this was to permit the woman's voice to come through.