*

The way it happened was this. As LeConte, working in the radio room
close off the main saloon, completed a connection which had been broken,
he called to us that he was making progress, and a moment later we heard
the click of his sending key and the shrill squeal of a powerful
electric arc breaking across the transmission points of his set. I
realized at once that this did not mean that the set was wholly in
order, for the pitch of the squealing arc was too high and too sharp,
but I did know that there was hope of establishing communication with
Earth soon. And, too, I realized another thing.

The moment that shrill, squealing sound impinged upon the Orconite's
ears, he jumped and uttered a cry of pain. There was something about his
nervous organism that could not stand these sounds!

"LeConte," I shouted, "close your key again!"

After that the battle was won. By the time I had explained to LeConte
why I had given him the order, and he had filled the cabin two or three
times with the screech, the Orconite was ready to speak. He trembled in
his seat. His mouth twisted with pain, and a look of agony seared his
eyes. He burst into fluent Orconese speech. Then he made a swift pass
with one hand at the black box on his chest, touched a switch there, and
began to rattle his Orconese into the mouthpiece.

The result--well, one might have known that Leider would have found some
ingenious means of making the difficult speech of Orcon easy. Out of the
small instrument into which our prisoner spoke his hard, rattling words,
came a flood of pure German.

An instrument for translating spoken Orconese into spoken German. That
was what the little box was.

"Shut the accursed transmission set off!" came from the box in a clear
German which I understood readily. "I will talk. Ask what you want to
know. I cannot stand this!"

* * * * *

His face still contorted, the Orconese touched a second switch on the
box, and indicated that I was to speak at the instrument. I did so, in
German. The result was an instant translation into the prisoner's own
tongue.

The rest was easy.

"What is your name?" was my first question.

"Hargrib."

"What were you and your people trying to do to us with the cable you
hitched to our stern?" I asked next.

"Destroy you."

The whole story was this: In a power house on an island only a few
hundred yards off the beach was kept a magnetic cable w