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The Telautomaton · The Adventuress

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  Chapter twenty two of The Adventuress by Arthur b Reeve. This LibriVox recording is
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  in the public domain. Read by Anne Fletcher, Chapter twenty two. The
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  tele automaton devilishly. While the light bombs flared, The tele automaton sped relentlessly
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  towards its mark. We strained our eyes at the cipparite. Would they never
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  awake to their danger? Was the wireless operator asleep or off duty? Would
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  our own operator be unable to warn them in time? Then we looked back
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  to the deadly new weapon of modern war science. Nothing now could stop it.
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  Kennedy was putting every inch of speed into the boat, which he had
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  commandeered as a race. It's hopeless, he gritted, bending a head over
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  the wheel, as if the boat were a thing that could be urged on.
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  What they are doing is to use the Hertzian waves to actuate relays on
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  the torpedo. The wireless carries impulses so tuned that they release power carried by
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  the machine itself. The thing that has kept the tell automaton back while wireless
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  telegraphy has gone ahead so fast is that in wireless we've been able to discard
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  coherers and relays and use detectors and microphones in their places. But in telautomatics
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  you have to keep the coherer that has been the barrier. The coherer until
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  recently has been spasmodic until we got the mercury steel disc coherer. And now
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  this one. See how she works. If only it could be working for
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  us instead of against us. On sped the destroyer, it was now only
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  a matter of seconds when it would be directed squarely at the yacht. In
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  our excitement we shouted forgetting that it was of no use, that they would
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  neither hear nor most likely know what it was we meant. Pakita's words rang
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  in my ears. Was there nothing that could be done? Just then we
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  saw a sailor rush frantically and haul in a boat that was fastened to a
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  boom extending from the yacht's side. Then another and another ran toward the first.
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  They had realized at last our warning was intended for them. The deck
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  was now alive, and faintly over the water, we could hear them shouting
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  in frantic excitement as they worked to escape destruction coming at them now at express
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  train speed. Suddenly there came a spurt of water, a cloud of spray
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  like a geezer, rising from the harbor. The sipparite seemed to be lifted
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  bodily out of the water and broken. Then she fell back and settled,
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  bow foremost, healing over. As she sank down to the mud and ooze
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  of the bottom. The water closed over her, and she was gone.
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  Nothing left but fragments of spars and woodwork which had been flung far and wild.
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  Through my mind ran the terrible details I had read of ships torpedoed without
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  warning, and the death and destruction of passengers. At least there were no
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  women and children to add to this horror. Kennedy slowed down his engine as
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  we approached the floating wreckage, for there was not only the danger of our
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  own frail little craft hitting something and losing rudder or propeller, But we could
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  not tell what moment we might run across some of those on the yacht,
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  if any had survived. Other boats had followed us by this time, and
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  we bent all our energies to the search for pursuit of the scout cruiser was
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  useless. There was not a craft in the harbor capable of overtaking one of
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  her type even in daylight. At night, she was doubly safe from pursuit.
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  There was only one thing that we might accomplish. Rescue. Would we
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  be in time, would we be able to find Shelby? As my mind
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  worked automatic over the entire swift succession of events of the past few days,
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  I recalled every moment we had been observing him, every action. I actually
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  hated myself now for the unspoken suspicion of him that I had entertained. I
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  could see that though Kennedy had been able to promise him nothing openly, he
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  had in reality been working in Shelby's real interests. There flashed through my mind
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  a picture of Winifred, and at the same time, the thought of what
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  this all meant to her brought to me forcibly the events of the night before.
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  One attack after another had been leveled against us, starting with the following
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  and shooting at Hastings at our very laboratory door, Burke had been attacked.
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  Then had come the attack on Kennedy, which had miscarried and struck me.
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  Death had been leveled even at Mito, as though he had possessed some great
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  secret. Next had come the attempted abduction of Winifred Walcott, and at last
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  it had culminated in the most spectacular attack of all on Shelby himself. Try
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  as I could, by a process of elimination, I was unable to fix
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  the guilt on any one in particular. Even yet fixing guilt, however,
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  was not what was needed. Now we had come into the area of the
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  floating debris, and the possibility of saving life was all that need concern us.
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  In the darkness, I could make out cries, but they were hard
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  to locate. We groped about, trying hard to cover as much area as
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  possible, but at the same time fearful of defeating our own purposes by striking
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  someone with bow or propeller of our speed boat. Every now and then a
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  piece of the wreckage would float by, and we would scan it anxiously in
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  mingled fear and hope that it would assume a human form as it became more
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  clearly outlined. Each time that we failed, we resumed the urched with desperate
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  determination. Look cried Burke, pointing at a wooden skylight that seemed to have
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  been lifted from the deck and cast out into the waves. The glass broken,
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  but the frame nearly intact. What's that, aren't it? Kennedy swung
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  the boat to port, and we came alongside the dark, bobbing object.
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  It was the body of a man with a boat hook. Craig hauled the
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  thing nearer, and we leaned over the side and together pulled the limp form
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  into our boat. As we laid him on some cushions on the flooring,
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  our boat drifted clear and swung around so that the flare shone in his face.
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  He stirred and groaned, but did not relax, the grip of his
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  fingers still clenched after we had torn them loose from the skylight grating. It
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  was Shelby Maddock's, terribly wounded but alive. Others of the crew were floating
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  about, and we set to work to get them, now aided by the
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  volunteer fleetat that had followed us out. When it was all over, we
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  found that all had been accounted for so far except the engineer and one sailor.
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  Just at present, we had only one thought in mind. Shelby Maddocks
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  must be saved, and to be saved, he must be rushed to where
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  there was medical assistance. Shouting orders to those who had come up to continue
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  the search. Kennedy headed back toward the town of Westport. The nearest landing
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  was the town dock at the foot of the main street, and toward this
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  Craig steered. There was no emergency hospital, but one of the bystanders volunteered
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  to fetch a doctor, and it was not long before Shelby was receiving the
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  attention he needed so badly. He had been badly cut about the head by
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  flying glass, and the explosion had injured him internally. How serious could not
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  be determined. Although two of his ribs had been broken, only his iron
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  will and athletic trail had saved him, for he was weak not only from
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  the loss of blood, but from water which he had been unable to avoid
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  swallowing. The doctor shook his head gravely over him, but something had to
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  be done, even though it was painful to move him. He could not
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  lie there in an open boat. Kennedy settled the matter quickly. From a
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  tenant who lived over a stall near the water front. He found where a
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  delivery wagon could be borrowed. Using a pair of long oars and some canvas,
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  we improvised a stretcher which we slung from the top of the wagon,
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  and so managed to transport Shelby to the Harbor House, avoiding the crowd of
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  curious onlookers at the main entrance, and finally depositing him in the bed in
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  the room which he usually occupied. The pain from his wounds was intense,
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  but he managed to keep up his nerve until we reached the hotel, and
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  then he collapsed as we tried to help the doctor to bring him around.
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  I feared that the injury and the shock might have proved fatal. Pretty serious,
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  muttered the doctor in answer to my anxious inquiry. But I think he'll
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  pull through it. Call up May twenty one. There's a trained nurse summering
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  at the house. Get her down. I hastened to do so, and
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  had hardly finished when Kennedy came over to me. I think we ought to
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  notify his sister, he remarked, See if you can get missus Walcott on
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  the house phone. I called, but the voice that answered was not that
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  of Francis Walcott. It took me a few seconds before I realized that it
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  was Winifred Walcott, and I covered up the transmitter as I turned to Kennedy
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  to tell him and ask what he wanted me to do. Let me talk
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  to her, decided Craig, I think I won't let events take their course
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  any longer. She can be the best nurse for Shelby if she will.
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  Craig had evidently prepared to break the news gently to her, but as nearly
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  as I could make out, it was not necessary. She had already heard
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  what had happened. No, I heard him say, as if in answer
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  to an anxious question from her. He is seriously heard to be sure,
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  but the doctor says that with proper nursing, he will pull through. I
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  didn't hear the reply, of course, but I recognized the appeal hidden in
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  Kennedy's answer. As he waited just a moment, I heard him say.
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  Next, his forehead wrinkle as he listened to something, evidently trying to make
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  it out, and then he said, suddenly, I think we'd better say
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  no more. Over the telephone, Miss Walcott, some one is listening to
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  us. An angry look flashed over his face, but his voice showed no
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  anger as he said good bye and hung up. What was it? I
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  asked, What did she do? It wasn't, Miss Walcott, he replied,
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  scowling. You heard me say that some one was listening. Well,
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  just as I said it, there came a laugh over the wire from somewhere,
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  and a voice cut in. Yes, there is some one listening.
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  You haven't caught me yet, Kennedy, And you won't, I said good
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  bye after that. Oh, I have no fear about miss Walcott. Kennedy
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  was right. It seemed an incredibly short time when there came a light tap
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  on the door, and he sprang to open it. Can I be of
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  any assistance, pleaded a softly tremulous voice, But perhaps I could play at
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  nursing. Kennedy glanced at the doctor and the figure lying so quietly on the
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  bed, and then at the girl, and decided she had hesitated, not
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  a moment when she had heard how close Shelby was to death, but had
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  hurried to him. He opened the door, and she entered, softly,
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  tiptoeing toward the bed. It must have been by some telepathic influence that Shelby,
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  who had a moment before been scarcely cone felt her presence. She had
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  scarcely whispered a word to the doctor as she bent over him, but he
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  opened his eyes caught just a glimpse of her face and seemed to drink it
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  in as his eyes rested on the bunch of flowers. She was wearing,
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  his flowers, which he had sent her. He smiled faintly. Not even
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  by a word or look, was any reference made to their misunderstanding. It
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  was a strange meeting, but it seemed that the very atmosphere had changed.
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  Even the doctor noticed it. In spite of his pain, Shelby had brightened
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  visibly. I don't think we need that, nurse, whispered the doctor to
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  Kennedy, with an understanding glance. What was that you said about some one
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  listening over the telephone? Who could it have been? The doctor said it
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  in a low enough tone, but it seemed that Maddock's senses must have been
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  suddenly made more acute by the coming of Winifred. He had reached out weakly
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  but unhesitatingly, and had placed his hand on hers as it rested on his
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  pillows. At the mention of the telephone, he turned towards us with an
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  inquiring look. It seemed to recall to his mind something that had been on
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  it before the accident. Some one listening, he repeated, more to himself
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  than to us. Winifred looked inquiringly at us too, but said nothing.
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  Kennedy tried to pass the thing over, but the doctor's remark seemed to have
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  started some train of thought in Shelby's mind which could not be so easily stopped.
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  Some one pounding Maddock's munitions, he murmured brokenly, as if feeling his
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  way through a maze. Now I'm out ell succeed. What can I do?
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  How can I hold up the market? He repeated the last two questions,
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  as though turning them over in his mind and finding no answer. Evidently
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  he was talking about his operations in the market, which had been so puzzling
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  to Hastings as well as ourselves. I was about to say something that would
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  prompt him to go on with his revelation, when Kennedy's look halted me.
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  Apparently he did not wish to interfere with the train of thought the doctor's remark
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  had started, inasmuch as it had been started now. Some one listening over
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  the telephone strove Shelby again. Yes, how can I do it? No
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  more secrecy laid up here. I'll have to use the telephone. Will those
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  broad streak brokers take orders over a long distance. Everybody will know what I'm
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  doing? Doalth delay? Play me for a sucker? What am I to
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  do? It was evident now what Shelby had been doing, at least in
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  part. The tragedy to his brother had quite naturally depressed the stock of the
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  company. Indeed, with Martial Maddocks its moving spirit gone, it was no
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  wonder that many holders had begun to feel shaky. Once that feeling began to
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  become general, the stock, which had had a meteoric rise lately, along
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  with other war stocks, would begin to sag and slump. Sadly, there
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  was no telling where it would stop if once the downward trend began. As
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  I looked at the young man, I felt a new respect for him,
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  even though I had not a much clearer idea than at the start of how
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  or by whom Martial Maddocks had been killed. Still, I do not think
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  any of us had believed that Shelby was capable of seeing such a crisis so
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  clearly and acting upon what he saw. Evidently it was in his blood,
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  bred in the Maddock's nature. He was a great deal more clever than any
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  of us had suspected. Not only had he realized the judgment of outsiders about
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  himself, but had taken advantage of it in keeping the stock up. If
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  it had been known that it was he who was doing it, it would
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  not have counted for half what it did when the impression prevailed that the public
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  was doing it, or even some hazy financial interest determined to maintain the price.
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  Both possibilities had been discussed by the market sharps. It had never seemed
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  to occur to them that Shelby Maddocks might be using his personal fortune to boaster
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  up what was now in greater measure his own company. For a moment we
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  looked blankly at Kennedy. Then Shelby began to talk again. Suppose the bare
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  raid continues, He murmured, I must meet it. I must. The
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  doctor leaned over to Craig. He can't go on that way, he whispered,
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  it'll use up his strength in worry. Kennedy was thinking about that too,
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  as he considered the very difficult situation the tele automaton attack had placed Shelby
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  in. It was more than a guess that the attack had been carefully calculated.
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  Some one else, perhaps some hidden group, was engaged in taking advantage
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  of the death of Marshal Maddox in one way and Shelby in another. As
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  for Shelby, here he was helpless at the harbor House, surrounded by spies
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  as he seemed to be. What could he do? Every message in and
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  out of the hotel was most likely tapped to use a telephone was like publishing
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  abroad one's secrets. Kennedy moved over quietly to the bedside as Winnifred looked appealingly
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  at him, as much as to say, isn't there something you can do
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  to quiet him? He bent down and took Shelby's hand. Oh it's you,
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  Kennedy, is it? Wondered Shelby, not quite clear yet where he
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  was in the fantasy of impressions that crowded his mind since the accident. I
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  asked you to work with me, once you said you would play fair,
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  I will, repeated Kennedy, as far as the interests of my client go,
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  I will give you every assistance. But if you are to do anything
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  at all to morrow, you must rest to night. Have have I been
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  talking? Queried Shelby, as though in doubt whether he had been thinking to
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  himself or aloud. Kennedy ignored the question. You need rest, he said,
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  simply let the doctor fix you up now in the morning. Well,
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  to morrow will be another day. Shelby passed his hand wearily over his aching
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  head. He was too weak to argue while the doctor prepared a mild opiate
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  Kennedy and I quietly withdrew into the next room. Oh, Professor Kennedy,
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  won't you help us? Pleaded Miss Walcott, who had followed. Surely something
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  can be done. I couldn't help noticing that she said us, not him,
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  as I watched her. The scene on the float hours before flashed over
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  me. There another woman, under quite different circumstances, had made the same
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  appeal. Where did Pakita fit into this scheme of things? Two women had
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  been striving over Shelby's life. Did one represent his better nature and the other
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  his worse? Kennedy looked frankly at Winnifred Walcott. You will trust me,
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  he asked in a low tone. Yes, she said, simply meeting his
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  eyes in turn. Then when the nurse arrives, he directed, get some
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  rest. I shall need you to morrow. End of Chapter twenty two.