CHAPTER IV.
THE POCKET WIRELESS 1.
Mr.Sanford Quest sat in his favourite easy-chair, his cigar inclined towards the left hand corner of his mouth, his attention riveted upon a small instrument which he was supporting upon his knee.

So far as his immobile features were capable of expression, they betrayed now, in the slight parting of his lips and the added brightness of his eyes, symptoms of a lively satisfaction.

He glanced across the room to where Lenora was bending over her desk.
"We've done it this time, young woman," he declared triumphantly.

"It's all O.K., working like a little peach." Lenora rose and came towards him.

She glanced at the instrument which Quest was fitting into a small leather case.
"Is that the pocket wireless ?" He nodded.
"I've had Morrison out at Harlem all the morning to test it," he told her.
"I've sent him at least half-a-dozen messages from this easy-chair, and got the replies.