There was no
one. The only thing of life was the still sputtering arc light.
Had the man gone crazy?
"What of it?" I growled. "Don't you suppose I know all that?
What's the use of repeating it now? The thing to do is to get
out of this hole. Come, help me at this door. Maybe we can
batter it down."
Kennedy paid no attention to me, however, but kept his eyes
glued on the Cimmerian blackness outside the porthole.
He had done nothing apparently, yet a long finger of light seemed
to shoot out into the sky from the pier across from us and begin
waving back and forth as it was lowered to the dark waters of the
river. It was a searchlight. At once I thought of the huge
reflector which I had seen set up. But that had been on our side
of the next pier and this light came from the far side where the
Mohican lay.
"What is it?" I asked eagerly. "What has happened?"
It was as if a prayer had been answered from our dungeon on La
Montaigne.
"I knew we should need some means to communicate with Herndon,"
he explained simply, "and the wireless telephone wasn't practicable.
So I have used Dr. Alexander Graham Bell's photophone. Any of the
lights on this side of La Montaigne, I knew, would serve. What I
did, Walter, was merely to talk into the mouthpiece back of this
little silvered mirror which reflects light.
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