The Golden Grotto

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Clyde Burke’s ears were alert as they caught the coded rattling. His hand, resting unseen within the book that he was reading, jotted down the dots and dashes that his ears were hearing.

Without moving his head, Clyde turned his eyes across the smoking room of the steamship Patagonia, and detected the source of the message. A poker player, his back toward Burke, was idly lifting and dropping a stack of chips that rested on the table beside him. Clyde could see the up-and-down motion of the man’s fingers.

“Click — click — click — click — click—”

Clyde’s hand was still busy, but his gaze was moving to other sections of the room. Somewhere, he knew, a man was receiving the message which the other was sending.

Clyde’s stealthy glances were rewarded. Two men, seated opposite each other on the side of the smoking room nearest the door, were rising as with one accord. One swallowed a half-finished drink; then the two strolled from the smoking room.

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