d.

"Forty seconds past midnight," came the reply from the equatorial
observer.

Evarts repeated the answer for Thornton's benefit, looking at their own
clock at the same time. It pointed to exactly forty seconds past the
hour. He heard Thornton suppress something like an oath.

"There's something the matter!" repeated Thornton dumbly. "Aeta isn't
within five minutes of crossing. Both clocks can't be wrong!"

He pressed a button that connected with the wireless room.

"What's the time?" he called sharply through the nickel-plated
speaking-tube.

"Forty-five seconds past the hour," came the answer. Then: "But I want
to see you, sir. There's something queer going on. May I come in?"

"Come!" almost shouted Thornton.

A moment later the flushed face of Williams, the night operator,
appeared in the doorway.

"Excuse me, sir," he stammered, "but something fierce must have
happened! I thought you ought to know. The Eiffel Tower has been trying
to talk to us for over two hours, but I can't get what he's saying."

"What's the matter--atmospherics?" snapped Evarts.

"No; the air _was_ full of them, sir--shrieking with them you might say;
but they've stopped now. The trouble has been that I've been jammed by
the Brussels station talking to the Belgian Congo--same wave length--and
I couldn't tune Brussels out. Every once in a while I'd get a word of
what Paris was saying, and it's always the same word--'_heure_.' But
just now Brussels stopped sending and I got the complete message of the
Eiffel Tower. They wanted to know our time by Greenwich. I gave it to
'em. Then Paris said to tell you to take your transit with great care
and send result to them immediately----"

The ordinarily calm Thornton gave a great suspiration and his face was
livid. "Aeta's just crossed--we're five minutes out! Evarts, am I crazy?
Am I talking straight?"

Evarts laid his hand on the other's arm.

"The earthquake's knocked out your transit," he suggested.

"And Paris--how about Paris?" asked Thornton. He wrote something down on
a card mechanically and started for the door. "Get me the Eiffel Tower!"
he ordered Williams.

The three men stood motionless, as the wireless man sent the Eiffel
Tower call hurtling across the Atlantic:

"ETA--ETA--ETA."

"All right," whispered Williams, "I've got 'em."

"Tell Paris that our clocks are all out five minutes according to the
meridian."

Williams worked the key rapidly, and then listened.