d called down to her husband.

"Look!" she said, under her breath, as he came to the rail, "they're
talking with their wireless!"

She pointed to the masthead of the Cunarder, where, through the
twilight, she could "spell" the spark, signal by signal and letter by
letter, as the current broke from the head of the installation wires to
the hollow metal mast, from which ran the taut-strung wires connecting,
in turn, with the operating office just aft and above the engine-rooms.

"Listen," she said, for in the lull of the wind they could hear the
short, crisp spit of the spark as it spelt out its mysterious messages.

Durkin caught her arm, and listened, intently, watching the little
appearing and disappearing green spark, spelling off the words with
narrowing eyes.

"They're talking with the station up on the mainland. Do you hear what
it is? Can't you make it out?"

It was, of course, the Continental, and not the Morse, code, and it was
not quite the same as stooping over and listening to the crisp,
incisive pulsations of a "sounder." But Frank heard and saw and pieced
together enough of the message to clutch, in turn, at Durkin's arm, and
wait with quickened breath for the answering spark-play.

"No--such--persons--on--board--send--fuller--description."

There was a silence of a minute or two, and then the mysterious
Hertzian voice lisped out once more.

"Description--not--forwarded--by--Embassy--man--and--wife--are wanted--
for robbery--at--Monte--Carlo--also--at--Genoa--name--Durgin--or--
Durkin."

The listening man and woman looked at each other, and still waited.

"Oh, this _is_ luck!" said the listener, fervently, as he drew a deep
breath. "This _is_ luck!"

"Listen, they're answering again!" cried Frank.

"Why--not--confer--with--Trieste--authorities--will--you--please--
telephone--our--agents--to--send--out--tender--to take--off--Admiral--
Stuart."

Then came the silence again.

"Yes," sounded the minute electric tongue from the mountain-top, so
many miles away. "Good--night!"

"Good--night!" replied the articulate mass of heaving steel, swinging
at her anchor chains.

CHAPTER XV

WIRELESS MESSAGES

"What are we to do?" asked Frances Durkin, turning from the masthead to
her husband's studious face.

"We've got to jump at our chance, and get on board the _Slavonia_ over
there!"

"In the face of those messages?"

"It's the messages that simplify things for us. All we now ha