Back and forth, back and forth, went the watching vessels. Minutes followed minutes and became hours. The darkness increased to absolute blackness. Far off, the lights of Manhattan began to disappear, winking out one by one. Night settled down over the heaving waters. The soughing of the wind increased. From seaward came a dull moaning sound. The waves were getting up. The storm was coming on apace. Ships were seeking refuge from it, and more than one goodly vessel came plunging in from the sea. But the watching patrol boats gave them a wide berth and themselves went undetected. Always there was a possibility that some entering ship might flash a wireless warning back through the darkness. Back and forth, back and forth, rode the little patrol craft. And ever Willie sat at his instrument, his earpiece strapped to his head, listening for any sound in the night that would help the little fleet locate its prey. Now he tuned into this wave-length, now to that. He heard a myriad voices in the air, but for a long time none that was of use to him. Through the heavy atmosphere electric signals were flashing as thick as raindrops in a tropic storm. Far out on the ocean he heard steamships talking to one another, their operators discussing the storm that was raging there. Commercial lines were shooting messages through the air as fast as fingers could operate electric keys. Newspaper despatches were boring through the clouds. Amateurs by the hundreds were filling the ether with electric currents. More and more, as Willie listened to the babel, he thought of rain—horizontal rain, a rain of electric sparks that flew level with the surface of the earth. Some day, he knew, electric messages would travel that way—straight and in one direction only. But ever, as he worked back and forth through the different wave-lengths, he listened for messages of his own. Nor did he listen in vain. Presently the _Surveyor’s_ call came crackling in his ears. Quickly he sent the answering signal flashing back through the darkness. Then came the message. “Rum runners well outside of three-mile limit. Cannot touch them. Little runners practically all ashore before we got near. Probably had wireless warning. Believe some went seaward. Likely heading for Long Island. Many try to enter harbor. Running without lights. Keep close watch.” The message was from one of the sub chasers. Willie repeated it to his Chief. “Just as I feared,” said the Chief. “They caught nothing. It is all the more important for us to get any boats that try to slip into the harbor. But if we don’t catch any runners, we can at least prevent any more from getting to the rum fleet.” And he gave Willie a message. “Stand by and watch rum fleet as long as possible,” flashed out Willie. “Prevent transfer of any more booze to small boats. If sea grows too heavy, run for nearest harbor.”