CHAPTER III
THE CALL FROM WITHOUT
It was four hours later that the man in the raincoat reappeared on the bridge deck. The night was thick, and McKinnon, the operator, worked with his coat off and his door hooked back against the wall-plates.
He looked up for only a moment as he saw the huge figure once more confronting him. The stranger, unrebuffed by his silence, stepped calmly inside.
"Anything come in over this machinery o' yours for me?" he inquired as he took out a cigar, pushed his hat back on his head, and struck a light. The operator looked up with his habitually abstracted and unseeing stare.
"What's the name!" he asked, once more studying his "tuner."
The other was indignantly silent for a moment; then he laughed a little, forgivingly. "Duffy," he answered. "Michael Duffy."
The operator shook his head; the movement
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