and it was lined with rabbit-skin sadly worn at the edges, and rent in the seams.
Kestner possessed himself of that overcoat. Then he lowered himself to the floor, sinking first on one knee and then on the other, slowly, so there should be no shadow of a concussion-sound or bone-creak. Then he leaned forward, with his finger-tips on the floor-boards, letting his body descend inch by inch until his face was close to the wharf-planks and his outstretched hands were within touch of the transmitter-stand.
He first lifted this stand until it was directly in front of him, close to his face. Then he slowly drew the heavy pilot-cloth coat up over his body until it covered both the transmitter and his head. He draped it cautiously about him, as a camera-man covers his instrument, making sure no vent was left. Then he slowly lifted the receiver from its hook, placed it to his ear, and with his lips almost touching the diaphragm of the transmitter whispered his number to Central. From that little tented corner of blackness he was able to call for Wilsnach and help. For Central had heard and given him his connection.
"Wilsnach!" he whispered into the tiny cave of metal against his lip.
There came a faltering and somewhat puzzled "Hello?" in response to his whisper.
"Wilsnach, do you hear me?"
"Hello!" repeated the answering voice.
"Don't you hear me?"
"No! Speak up!"
"This is Kestner," continued the whisper from un-
