the receiver at his ear was mute. The wire was cut.

"Thank God for the wireless!" cried Charley, snatching up the trap-door
and descending the ladder recklessly. "There aren't any wires about that
to be cut."

Involuntarily he glanced toward his aerial. Then he stopped dead. His
aerial had disappeared. Now he knew why the tower had vibrated during the
night. Somebody had been on the ladder. If only he had gotten up to
investigate! But it was too late now for regrets. He must act. He must get
up another aerial. An idea came to him and he shouted for joy. He would
use the tower itself as an aerial.

He raced to the cabin and flung open the door. A single glance showed him
his cupboard had been rifled of its food supplies. He leaped toward his
operating-table and stopped aghast. His face turned pale, his hands fell
helplessly to his sides, and he stood looking at the instruments before
him, the picture of despair. A heavy file lay across the terminals of his
battery, and the battery was useless.

Unnerved, Charley sank down on a chair. He covered his face with his
hands. It would take him hours to reach the Morton home on foot. And it
might be hours more before the forester could be notified. It looked as
though the forest were doomed.

Fairly shaking himself, as a terrier shakes a rat, Charley freed himself
of the fear that clutched at his heart and forced himself to think. Calmly
he began to consider what he could do. He thought of the dry cells he had
first used. They were still wired together and in the cabin. Like a flash
Charley coupled them to his instrument, but the cells were exhausted. He