"Send," interrupted The Thinking Machine:
"Satisfied-give-terms."
And the operator read:
"Five-million-dollars!"
"Five million dollars!" exclaimed the admiral and the diplomatist, in a breath. "Does he mean ransom?" Baron Von Hartzfeldt asked, aghast. "Five million dollars!"
"Five million dollars, yes," the scientist replied irritably. "We're not dealing with children. We're dealing with shrewd, daring, intelligent men who have played a big game for a big stake; and if you love your country and your king you'd better thank God it's only money they want. Suppose they had demanded a constitution, or even the abdication of your emperor? That might have meant revolution, war-anything." He stared at them an instant, then swung around to the operator. "Send," he commanded:
"We-accept-terms--"
"Why, man, you are mad!" interposed the diplomatist sharply. "It's preposterous!"
But The Thinking Machine said again evenly:
"We-accept-terms-specify-by-mail-place-time-manner-of-settlement."
The crashing of the mighty current in the glass drum ceased as the message was finished, and with strained attention the three men waited. Again a tense pause. At last the operator read:
"Also-assurance-no-prosecution."
And The Thinking Machine dictated:
"Accept."
"Wait a minute!" commanded Admiral Hausen-Aubier hotly. "Do you mean we are promising immunity to the men who abducted--"
"Certainly," replied the scientist. "They're not fools. If we don't promise it, all they have to do is break off communication and wait until such time as you will promise it." He shrugged his shoulders. "Or else stick a knife into your prince, and end the affair. Besides, prosecution means publicity."
With clenched hands, the admiral turned away; no answer seemed possible. Heedless of the things about him, Baron Von Hartzfeldt sat dumbly meditating upon the staggering ransom. It would take days to raise so vast a sum, if he could do it at all; and his private resources, together with those of Admiral Hausen-Aubier, would be drained to the last dollar. Even then it might be necessary to call upon the royal treasury. That would be a confession; out of it would come only dishonor and-death.
The Thinking Machine dictated:
"Accept-we-pledge-Hausen-Aubier's-word-of honor."
And the answer came:
"Satisfied-mailing-details-to-night-will-communicate-to-morrow-noon."
The attenuated thread which had linked them with the unknown was broken. Somewhere off through space they had talked with a man whom human ingenuity had failed to find-'twas another of the many miracles of modern science.
The morrow brought a typewritten letter incapable of misconstruction. It was the usual thing-an open field, some thirty miles out of the city, a lone tree in the center of the field, a suit case containing the money to be left there. The letter concluded with a paragraph after this fashion:
Your prince's life depends upon rigid adherence to these instructions. If there is any attempt to watch, or to identify us, or molest us, a pistol shot will end the affair; if the bag is there, and the money is in the bag, he will be aboard ship within five hours. Remember, we hold your pledge!
"Crude," commented The Thinking Machine. "I was led to expect better things of them."
"But the money, man, the money?" exclaimed Baron Von Hartzfeldt. "It will be absolutely impossible to get it unless-unless we call upon the royal treasury."
His face was haggard, his eyes inflamed by lack of sleep, and deep furrows lined his usually placid brow. He leaned forward, and stared tensely into the pallid, wizened face of the scientist, who sat with head tilted back, his gaze turned steadily upward, his slender fingers precisely tip to tip.
"Five million dollars in gold," The Thinking Machine observed ambiguously, "would weight tons. It would take five hundred ten-thousand-dollar notes to make five million dollars, and I doubt if there are that many in existence. It would take five thousand thousand-dollar notes. Absurd! There will have to be two, perhaps three, of the bags."
"But don't you understand," Baron Von Hartzfeldt burst out violently, "that it's impossible to raise that sum? That there will be none of the bags? That some other scheme--"
"Oh, yes, there will be three of the bags," The Thinking Machine asserted mildly. "But, of course, there will be no money in them!"
Admiral Hasuen-Aubier and the diplomatist digested the statement in silence.
"But you have pledged my word of honor--" the old sailorman objected.
"Not to prosecute," the scientist pointed out.
"Absurd!" The ambassador came to his feet. "You have said we are not dealing with children. Why put the empty bags there? If they find they are empty, the prince's life will pay forfeit; if we attempt to surround them and capture them, the result will be the same; and, besides, we will have broken our pledge."
"I've never seen any one so fussy about their pledges as you gentlemen are," observed The Thinking Machine acridly. "Don't worry. I shall not break a pledge; I shall not attempt to surround them and capture them; I shall not, nor shall any one representing me, or any of us, for that matter, be within miles of that particular field after the bags are placed. They shall reach the field unmolested and unwatched."
"You are talking in riddles," declared the diplomatist impatiently. "What do you mean?"
"I mean merely that the men who go to get the bags of money will wait right there until I come, even if it should happen to take two weeks," was the enigmatic response. "Also, I'll say they'll be glad to see me when I get there, and glad to restore Prince Otto Ludwig to his ship without one penny being paid. There will be no prosecution."
"But-but I don't understand," stammered the ambassador.
"I don't expect you to," said The Thinking Machine ungraciously. "Nor do I expect you to understand this."
Impatiently he spread a newspaper before the two men, and indicated an advertisement in black-faced type. It was on the first page, directly beneath a bulletin announcing a sudden change for the better in Prince Otto Ludwig's condition. The admiral read it aloud blankly:
"Wireless is only means communication can not be traced. Use it. Safe for all. Communicate with ship immediately. Would advise you erect private station."
That was all of it. It was addressed to no one, and signed by no one; if it had any meaning at all, it was merely as a curious method of advertising wireless telegraphy. Inquiringly at last the baron and the admiral raised their eyes to those of The Thinking Machine.
"The abductors of Prince Otto Ludwig had not communicated with the ship," he explained tersely, "because they could devise no way they considered absolutely safe. They knew the secret service would be at work. They didn't dare to telegraph in the usual way, nor send a messenger, nor even a letter. Our secret service is an able organization; they understood it was not to be trifled with. All these things considered, I didn't believe the abductors could hit upon a plan of communication which they considered safe. I inserted that advertisement in all the newspapers. It was a suggestion. They understood, and followed it. You will remember their first communication."
Baron Von Hartzfeldt came to his feet suddenly, then sat down again. The miracle hadn't been a miracle, after all. It was merely common sense.
"Jeder verruckte konnte davon denken!" exclaimed the admiral bluntly.
"Quite right," assented The Thinking Machine. "Any fool could have thought of that-but no other fool did!"
Promptly at noon the wireless operator plucked this from the void:
"Is-letter-satisfactory?"
And the scientist dictated an answer:
"Yes-except-we-require-another-day-to-raise-money."