The Project Gutenberg eBook of The radio man returns
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The radio man returns
Author: Ralph Milne Farley
Illustrator: William Juhre
Julian S. Krupa
Release date: November 6, 2026 [eBook #79934]
Language: English
Original publication: Chicago, IL: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, 1939
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79934
Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, Alex White and the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net. This file was produced from images generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RADIO MAN RETURNS ***
_THE Radio Man Returns_
_By RALPH MILNE FARLEY_
_Unseen wings menace the President, until the Radio Man returns to
pit Venus’ science against invisibility._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories, June 1939.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
CHAPTER I
The Radio Man Returns
Imagine my surprise at running across Myles Cabot at my class reunion in
June, 1939! The last that I had heard of him, before my interplanetary
radio-set went haywire, he had been on the Planet Venus. Yet here he
was, seated in the Harvard Union, reading a newspaper, and looking as
keen and virile as ever!
“Myles!” I exclaimed, rushing over to him. “What’s the big idea? Trying
to win the long distance attendance cup away from Consul Frost of
Calcutta?”
“Hello, Farley,” he replied, as casually as though we had seen each
other the day before. He arose, and handed over a copy of the Boston
Post. “Look at this newspaper! I’ll bet I can tell you how he did it.”
“How who did what? Oh, I see.”
Screaming headlines recounted that a bomb had been dropped on the White
House lawn by an invisible airplane, which had been clearly heard,
although not seen.
Morton Rust, a classmate from Wall Street, strolled by. “Watch stocks
crash,” he predicted. “The President’s narrow escape will give the
market the jitters.”
But the vagaries of the stock market did not interest me. What I wanted
to know was how Cabot happened to be back here on Earth again, instead
of millions of miles away in space.
“You haven’t told me how you got here,” I objected. “How are things on
Venus? How is the Princess Lilia? How is your son, little King Kew? Did
the ant-men ever—?”
“Stop! Stop!” he interrupted. “Look here, Farley, aren’t you more
concerned with the safety of your own President, than with the welfare
of a dynasty on a distant planet?—Don’t look now, but in a minute tell
me who is that man with a large shaggy head, standing just behind you.
He seems to be snooping on us.”
I swung slowly around. Then turned back and replied, “It’s Sedgwick.
Surely you remember him.”
“Mixed up in some foreign government, wasn’t he? I ran across him
several times in Detroit, but couldn’t quite place him.—O, Sedgwick!”
But our leonine classmate moved away, not hearing—or pretending not to
hear.
“Let’s take a walk through the College Yard,” Cabot suggested, folding
the newspaper and cramming it into a pocket of his Norfolk jacket. “I’ve
something to tell you, which I don’t wish overheard.”
When we were out on the grass beneath the elms, with no other classday
group within fifty feet of us, Cabot continued, with lowered voice,
“Ralph, this thing worries me. Oh, I know that the authorities try to
laugh it off. They say that there must have been a plane, and that the
bomb-dropping must have been an accident. But—mark this—any bomb
carried by an Army or Navy plane would be easily identifiable from the
fragments, and yet none of the news-dispatches mentions the type-number
of the bomb. Doesn’t that seem—?”
In the distance a newsboy could be heard crying an extra: “Read all
about it! Invisible plane drops another bomb. Read all about it!”
Cabot stopped abruptly, listened, and then with a sharp “Come on!” led
the way out to the Square, where we purchased two papers. As before, the
plane had been heard but not seen. And I noticed that the AP dispatch,
although mentioning that the fragments had been turned over to the
Ordnance experts, gave no intimation as to the type of the bomb.
“Well?” I asked.
“I’m going to Washington,” Cabot announced. “For although I’m a
naturalized Cupian, I’m still an American at heart. I’ve seen the same
stunt pulled in Cupia, on Venus. We must save the President.”
“We? Then you’ll take me along?”
“Why not!”
“And, now that you’re talking why-nots, why don’t you _phone_ your
information to the F. B. I.?”
“Wires may be tapped. I tell you, I’ve been followed and spied upon,
ever since I started designing that special car of mine. A big black
sedan trailed me here, all the way from Detroit.”
“What special car of yours?”
“It’s a long story. Tell you later.—Look!”
Our shaggy-maned classmate, Sedgwick, had come out of the Yard, and was
staring at us frowningly.
“There, you see,” Cabot continued, a worried look in his clear blue
eyes. “Are Mrs. Farley and Jacqueline here with you?”
I shook my head. “Still down on the farm at Chappaquiddick.”
“Then come on. We’ll get in my car, as though to go just for a short
drive. Not check out, or anything. Of course, we’ll be followed, but
maybe we can give them the slip.”
* * * * *
I nodded eager agreement. It was going to be much more exciting to live
a story, then just merely to write one. So we strolled casually over to
the Church Street Garage, and took out his 1939 Olds.
As we started slowly enough toward the Fresh Pond Parkway, Cabot frowned
sadly. “I hate to yield that long distance attendance cup to Frost of
Calcutta.—But perhaps they’ll award it to me posthumously.”
“You mean ‘in absentia’,” I answered, shuddering slightly.
“Look back,” said Cabot.
I did so. A car with a New York license was following us.
“Note the number,” my friend commanded.
We drove aimlessly around the pond, then headed back toward Cambridge.
The New York car still followed. Then Cabot headed for Highway 1.
In the highway traffic we lost sight of the car. We stopped for lunch.
When we came out, there stood the New York car beside ours. From there
on, Cabot stepped on the gas. But no one seemed to follow.
We cut over into Connecticut, and had to slow down for their strict
speed laws. We took to a back road, paralleling the main highway.
And then it happened!
A totally strange car pulled past us from behind, and then tried to
force us into the ditch. The man beside the driver held an automatic out
the window.
“Remember, it was self-defense,” Cabot snapped, as he pushed one of a
row of buttons on the dashboard.
A double explosion! The other car veered off, and crashed into some
trees to the left of the road.
“One-pounder cannon. High explosive shell,” Cabot explained.
I turned and looked back through our rear window. A man with a
machine-gun was scrambling out of the wrecked car. Then, with a rattling
roar, our rear window became spattered with cobwebby rosettes.
“Bullet-proof glass,” Cabot chuckled.
“But how about your tires?”
“Inflated sponge-rubber inners.” He pushed a second button on the dash.
Only one explosion this time. “Missed him!” A second explosion far to
the rear.
Cabot pushed a third button, then turned off into a side road. Behind us
hung a thick pall of smoke, obscuring our detour.
We reached the next town without event, and pulled into a garage, where
Cabot inspected the rear tires. Badly ripped they were, but still
holding up. Cabot asked to have them changed.
* * * * *
While this was being done, another car of the same model as ours came in
for some minor adjustment. It bore New Hampshire plates, was covered
with Dartmouth banners, and contained two very personable looking young
men.
The garage attendants finished with both cars at about the same time.
Cabot beckoned to me, and we walked to the front of the shop and peered
out, up and down the street. Just beyond the garage stood the New York
car, which we hadn’t seen since morning.
“Um,” said Cabot, and his blue eyes narrowed. Then he strode back to the
two Dartmouth men, and drew them into a corner. “Where are you headed
for, fellows?” he asked.
“What’s it to you?”
Cabot grimly drew a card out of his pocket, and flashed it at them.
“Oh!” And their jaws dropped.
“You haven’t done anything.” Cabot smiled engagingly. “But I and this
other G-man here want some help.” They brightened eagerly. “We are being
followed by a New York car containing criminals. You’ve heard of The Man
on Long Island?” They nodded. “Well, they’re henchmen of his. I want you
to change numbers with us, go out of here and head south. They’ll follow
you, and we’ll follow them. When they stop you, we’ll take them by
surprise. Are you game?” They nodded again. “But it will better fit my
plans if you can elude them entirely; only don’t get pitched for
speeding.”
While they were changing the number-plates—and shifting their college
flags onto our car—Cabot drew the garage man aside, and flashed his
card again. “As soon as both our cars have left, phone the local police,
give them the Michigan number which is being put on these young fellows’
car, and tell them that a New York car—my friend here will give you the
number—full of gangsters is after the Michigan one. Tell the police to
follow it, and arrest the gangsters. But, don’t, on your life, mention
my car or where I’ve gone.”
The Dartmouth men warmly shook hands with us, and departed. From the
front of the shop, we saw the New York car start up in pursuit. We
hurried to our own car—and Cabot backed it out the rear door of the
garage.
“But you said—,” I began.
“—that I’d follow and protect them? Yes. But the local police can do
that for me. Meanwhile we’ll be giving the enemy the slip.”
“You never told me that you were a G-man!”
“I’m not. That card is merely a night pass to the Federal Bureau of
Investigation. I counted on the Dartmouth fellows reading only the
heading on it.”
Now that we were temporarily free of our pursuers, I again queried Cabot
as to how come he was here on Earth instead of still on Venus. We
compared notes, as we drove along.
* * * * *
Toward the end of 1938, I had received a letter from the Radio
Corporation of America, informing me that a patent application of theirs
had been rejected by the U. S. Patent Office on the strength of a
complete description of identically the same apparatus in one of my
three published novels about Cabot’s adventures on the planet Venus.[1]
[1] In spite of the inviolate rule of secrecy which enshrouds the U. S.
Patent Office, we have good evidence to believe that this statement is
an actual fact. Holland’s patent on his submarine was similarly
invalidated on the strength of Jules Verne’s “Twenty Thousand Leagues
Under the Sea.”—Ed.
This letter from the R. C. A. had gone on to inquire whether there
actually was such a person as Myles Cabot, and whether his recorded
adventures on Venus were the truth. Of course, I had answered yes to
both questions.
The next development had been a visit from a group of R. C. A. engineers
at my Chappaquiddick Island farm off the Massachusetts coast. They
wanted to see the remains of the huge radio set which Cabot had built
there, and which he had used to transmit himself back to Venus, and with
which I had kept in touch with him for a short while after his return,
until it had inexplicably ceased to function.
The outcome of their visit had been their purchase from me of the
remains of the set, and all the notes and blueprints which Cabot had
left. I had felt rather guilty about having messed-up their patent, and
so let them have all the junk for a mere song. Furthermore my barn
needed repairing.
Then I had dismissed Cabot from my mind until I had unexpectedly run
across him yesterday morning at the class reunion.
He now explained that the Radio Corporation had repaired the radio set
which they had bought from me, had thus reopened communication with
Venus, and had finally persuaded him to transmit himself to earth again.
After some research work for the R. C. A. in the early spring of 1939,
Cabot had gone over to General Motors to help them design a special car
for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, which was the car he now was
driving.
Hence the bullet-proof glass, the one-pounder cannons, the sponge-rubber
inner tubes, and the smoke-screen, all of which had come in so handy in
our encounter with the ruffians who had attacked us.
CHAPTER II
Danger to the President
Cabot’s ruse of interchanging the number-plates proved highly
successful—at least so far as we were concerned. We drove all night,
and reached Washington intact the next morning. The newspapers carried
an account of the car which we had shot up, but no mention of any
similar occurrence in that vicinity; so we concluded that the Dartmouth
two had avoided trouble. Probably they had been followed clear to their
homes, before their pursuers discovered the impersonation. A later
check-up verified this.
Cabot reported at once to head G-man J. Edgar Hoover at the Department
of Justice Building, and turned over the car. Then the two of us set out
for the White House.
On the Avenue in front of the Justice Building, whom should we run
across but our financier friend, Morton Rust!
“Fancy meeting you two here!” he exclaimed, holding out his hand.
“Why aren’t you still at the reunion?” I inquired.
“I might ask the same of you. But the fact is I received a sudden call
from the Treasury Department about helping to swing a new issue of
short-term notes. And you?”
“You don’t happen to have seen our classmate Sedgwick around here, do
you?” Cabot interjected.
“No. Why?”
“Oh, merely that he seems to be the most ubiquitous member of our
Class,” Cabot laughed. “But, look here, Rust. I’ve got an idea which
I’ve been mulling over in the back of my mind all the way down here. It
was suggested by your remark in the Harvard Union yesterday morning
about the effect of the White House bombings on the stock market. Farley
and I are on our way to the White House right now by special invitation
to discuss the matter. Would you mind coming with us? It’s just a hunch,
but I believe you could help.”
The eyes of our stock-broker friend glowed eagerly. “Would I! It would
be killing two birds with one stone: helping to solve the mystery of the
invisible plane, and perhaps giving me a drag with the Secretary of the
Treasury. Sure I’ll come.”
“There’ll be more than birds killed, if we don’t hurry,” Cabot commented
grimly, as he hailed a taxi.
* * * * *
The President was awaiting us in the Blue Room, and with him were
several experts from the Air Corps and the Technical Staff of the
Ordnance Department. Of course, they had all heard of Myles Cabot the
Radio Man, greatest scientist of two worlds, but had always regarded him
as more or less of a myth—like Burroughs’s Tarzan. Even after actually
meeting him and shaking hands with him, they still kept glancing at him
incredulously and furtively throughout the entire conference.
As soon as the introductions were over, Cabot waved aside all
compliments, and got down to business. First he asked if the bomb
fragments had indicated that the bombs were of government make. On
receiving the expected negative answer, he told of the two cars which
had followed us, one of which we had so successfully shot up, and of
their accurate track of our whereabouts, until we had given them the
slip by swapping license-plates with the Dartmouth men. This seemed to
indicate that a rather far-flung organization was behind the bombings.
“Which rules out the hypothesis of a crazy scientist,” the President
commented. “Do you suppose that it is the work of some foreign power, or
of some subversive organization?”
“I rather think not, Sir,” Cabot replied, pursing up his lips and
narrowing his eyes. “You have not received any threats on your life, or
any specific demands, have you?”
“Yes, I have.” The President handed over a typewritten note. “This just
came in by mail this morning.”
Cabot frowned, as he took the piece of paper. He read aloud:
“_Mr. President, I am concerned with your safety. Leave the White House
at once, making public statement that you have done so. If you stay, I
shall bomb the White House, and this time I shall not miss. If you
leave, and omit to publish the fact, I shall follow you and destroy you.
Only by obeying my orders, can you be saved. (Signed) Wings over
Washington._”
Cabot brightened as he finished reading.
The President smiled a wry smile. “I am something like a ship-captain,
gentlemen. Of course, I cannot leave the bridge.”
“Is America sinking?” Morton Rust asked with a slightly malicious tinge
to his tone.
The President flashed him a quick glance of annoyance.
I hastily interposed, “Don’t mind Morton, Sir. He’s an economic
royalist.”
The President’s booming laugh relieved the situation.
* * * * *
“It all fits in with my theory,” Cabot announced. “That’s why I brought
Mr. Rust here. Morton, tell them how this latest development will affect
the stock market.”
“Well—um—you may not all agree with my theories, but I’ve a reputation
as a fairly successful trader. When it becomes known that his Excellency
does not intend to leave the White House—”
“It will _not_ become known,” the President testily interjected.
“Begging pardon, but it will. There is a leak here somewhere.
Undoubtedly the contents of that quaint billet-doux which Mr. Cabot has
just read to us is already known on the Street. Well, as I was saying,
when it _leaks out_ that the President is not going to leave the White
House, the market will _drop_. When he _announces_ it, the market will
_rise_.”
“I don’t get the first,” said one of the Army officers, “but the second
seems natural enough. Of course, the market will be reassured by our
President’s courage.”
“Quite the contrary. Market-shaking events, unless _wholly_ unforeseen,
always have an effect exactly opposite to what an amateur would suppose;
for the full effect of the news has already been discounted by insiders.
Then, just before the news becomes public, and the lambs rush in and try
to profit by the news, the insiders unload or load up, as the case may
be, and the market moves just the opposite from what one would think it
would.”
“Well,” said the President, “even assuming that there _is_ a leak in my
official family, how does that help us solve the mystery of the
bombings?”
“Very simple, Mr. President,” the stockbroker replied, “and I believe
that this is what Mr. Cabot has in the back of his mind. Have the F. B.
I. check-up on all large buying and selling orders (say, of over a
thousand shares) of all rapidly fluctuating stocks, and trace these to
their source. My own firm will be glad to cooperate, and I shall be glad
to keep in touch with you.”
Cabot nodded emphatically.
The President fixed Morton with an intense but disarming stare. “Of
course,” he boomed, “you will give me your word that you and your
associates will keep out of the market yourselves, so long as you are in
touch with us.”
“Certainly, Mr. President,” Morton replied in an aggrieved tone.
“And now, Mr. Cabot,” the President continued, “I understand that you
have a theory as to how these bombings are being accomplished. Something
fourth-dimensional, I suppose?”
“Not at all,” Cabot laughed. “Something much more simple than that.”
“But what?”
“Please, Sir, let me combat it first, and explain it afterwards.”
“All right! All right!” a bit testily. “What are your plans?” Then,
grinning engagingly, “Remember, I’m to be killed tomorrow afternoon, I
believe.”
“In view of the White House leak, Mr. President, I prefer to discuss
them with you and Ralph here, alone.”
So the President waved the others out of the Blue Room, and the three of
us got down to business.
* * * * *
“Did you know,” Cabot promptly began, “that sound travels with the speed
of light?”
“Does it?” The President frowned, removed his glasses with his left
hand, and pinched and massaged the top of his nose with the thumb and
forefinger of his right. Then, from the inexhaustible storehouse of his
memory, there came, “It seems to me that I was taught at college that
light travels at 186,000 miles per second, whereas sound travels only
1,100 feet. Isn’t that why one sees the lightning before one hears the
thunder?”
“Yes. But there is also a little-known scientific principle that every
sound wave has two phases, like for example, the electrostatic and the
electromagnetic phases of a radio wave. Only, whereas both phases of a
_radio_ wave travel at the same rate of speed, the two phases of a
_sound_ wave travel at two utterly different rates. We are all
accustomed to the phase which we pick up with our ears. The other has
only recently been discovered by Cupian scientists on Venus—perhaps it
is not yet known on Earth. It is electrical in its nature, and hence
travels with the velocity of light. The situation is just as though
there were a microphone and a radio transmitting set located at the
source of the sound; we would pick up the audio-frequency long before
the sound itself reached us.”
“Very interesting, I am sure,” the President drily remarked, “but just
where is that getting us?”
Cabot held up one hand in mild protest. “Ordinary Army sound-detectors
aren’t very satisfactory to locate an _unseen_ plane; because, first,
you can’t get an accurate intersection due to the slow speed of sound,
and besides there are different distances between the two or three
receivers and the source. Secondly, even if you did get an accurate
intersection, the plane would be quite somewhere else by the time we got
it located. But, with my device for picking up the speed-of-light phase
of the sound wave, we can get an instantaneous location of the plane
just as though we were training telescopes on it.”
“Sounds fishy to me,” said the President. “Well, Mr. Cabot, what do you
propose?”
“Give us a room here in the White House as a work-shop. Keep our
presence here a secret. I’ll make out a list of supplies which I need;
get them just as quickly as you can, for we’ll have to work fast.
Provide a secret-service escort for my friend here and me. We’ll put up
at the Hotel Washington, and rest up from last night’s ride until you
phone us that everything is ready. Meanwhile, have the F. B. I. check up
on the stock market—and on the whereabouts and activities of our
classmate Sedgwick.”
“What have we got to lose?” laughed the President, genially, holding out
his hand.
* * * * *
We left the White House under escort. But, before turning in for a nap
at the hotel, we took a taxi to the garage of the Department of Justice,
and removed the door-lock from Cabot’s car. Then bought some pajamas and
toilet things.
Morton Rust took a room near ours on the same floor, and was likewise
assigned a Secret Service escort.
I was dog-tired. It seemed as though I had scarcely hit the pillow in
our double room at the hotel, when the phone rang. We had slept for five
hours, and our supplies were ready for us at the White House.
Snatching a brief lunch in the Coffee Shop, during which we read in the
afternoon papers that the stock market had taken an unexplained dip, we
hastened to our new laboratory. The G-men reported that Sedgwick could
not be located.
Cabot’s first act was to remove the lock from the door of our workshop,
and substitute the lock which he had taken from his car. “Another
gadget,” he explained. “A fanciful conception of my own. Note these two
keys: one is full-length and the other lacks the tip—looks as though it
were broken off. Either will unlock the door, but the long one will also
release a flood of sleeping-gas. I’ll give you one of the _long_ ones.”
Then, as I raised my eyebrows, his blue eyes twinkled and he added,
“But, of course don’t ever use it.”
Then we plunged into work building a sort of combined telescope and
radio receiving set hooked up with an ordinary sound-ranger. I never did
quite master the details. All that Myles would say in explanation was,
“The sound-ranger will give us the general direction—or, should I say,
_ex_-direction, of the plane. Then we can advance the telescope, and
pick up the fast phase of the plane’s sound. I must build _three_ of
these. Then if we hitch them up to the ordinary Sperry fire-control
apparatus of a battery of anti-aircraft guns, just as though they were
ordinary telescopes, we can bag the plane just as though we could see
it.”
“But why _can’t_ we see it?”
“I have my theory. But it really isn’t pertinent to our present problem,
and I don’t care to risk my reputation with prophesying. We’ll check,
when I shoot it down.”
We worked all night, and _half_ completed _one_ of the new instantaneous
sound-rangers. In the morning papers, Walter Winchell’s column announced
the following: “A certain exalted individual, who is mortally afraid of
having eggs laid on him, is said to have called into consultation a
crack-pot swami (who claims to have come from another planet). Swami
thinks he can catch hen. Government by hunch, we call it.”
* * * * *
Stocks rose. Our market expert, Morton Rust, grinned knowingly as he
explained to our little inside group at the White House, “The swami yarn
was all over Wall Street yesterday, demoralizing the market. Then, when
Winchell sprung the story, there came the inevitable reaction.
Fundamental principle of stock-speculation: bark always worse than
bite.”
An anti-aircraft battery was moved onto the White House grounds. Shortly
after they had unlimbered their equipment, the sound of an invisible
plane could be heard. I ran up out of the laboratory to see the show,
but Cabot kept on working. Frantically the old-fashioned sound-rangers,
with their four huge funnels, were traversed and laid to pick up the
sound. The keenest officer minds of the Coast Artillery and Technical
Staff trained their blind telescopes by guesswork on the vacant blue
ahead of the apparent source of the sound. The batteries opened fire,
with well calculated dispersion, on absolutely nothing.
Then from above a bomb dropped with exact precision upon one of the
guns, wiping out it and its crew. The invisible bomber passed on to the
northward.
Stocks crashed. A letter arrived at the White House, ordering the
President to get rid of Myles Standish Cabot at once, or face the
consequences. And, although no one but the President, Cabot, and I knew
of this latest communication, stocks dipped still lower.
“This seems to eliminate both Rust and the supposed White House leak,”
said Cabot, as he redoubled his efforts.
“What! You suspect Rust?” I asked.
“I _did_. But this leak must have come from the bomber himself. I’m
afraid the President is in for it. For it’ll take at least two more days
to complete my other two sets.”
“Couldn’t he leave secretly, and pretend to be still here?” I hazarded.
But Cabot shook his sandy head. “_If_ there is a White House leak, it
would do no good.” Suddenly he stiffened, his face lit up, and his blue
eyes sparkled. “By the Lost Religion!” he exclaimed. “I have it!”
“What?”
“I’ll catch him with _one_ set of apparatus. Listen here. There are
always slight sound-variations in the purr of a motor, no matter how
carefully it is tuned up. We’ll get a two-pen chronograph and record the
sound tracks of _both_ phases. Wherever we see a characteristic break in
the track, we can make a micrometer measurement on the two recorded
tracks. Knowing the constant difference between the velocity of each of
the two phases, this will give us the exact _distance_ of the plane. We
have its instantaneous _direction_ from the radio-telescope. Distance
and direction uniquely determine position. We’ve got ’em licked with
_one_ apparatus. Come on.”
He hastily scratched out a bill of materials. “Send this over to the
Technical Staff,” he commanded. “And tell the President that, by late
tomorrow, the White House will be impregnable. I hope that _this_ leaks
out, and reassures the country.”
It did, and stocks rose again.
CHAPTER III
Myles Cabot Disappears
That evening, with the new apparatus still uncompleted, Cabot insisted
on a rest. His hands were shaking, and he appeared very nervous. So, in
spite of all that was at stake, I did not argue with him. We returned to
the Hotel, had supper, and went right to bed. I promptly passed out, and
did not open my eyes again until it was broad daylight.
Cabot was gone from his bed! My first thought was: “Kidnapped!”
Without bothering even to shove my feet into my slippers, I rushed into
the adjoining room, where slept our Secret Service body-guard. Instantly
one of them covered me with his automatic.
Then laughed, “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Farley.”
“Where’s Myles?” I demanded.
The man grinned. “No cause for alarm. He left for the White House before
daybreak.”
“Under guard, I hope.”
“Certainly.”
I sank into a chair. Then rising and dressing as hurriedly as I could, I
rushed to the White House. They said that Cabot was in our laboratory.
But, when I reached the place, it was locked. No one answered to my rap
on the door, and my call of Cabot’s name. I snatched out my key.
Then remembered.
Something hard and round dug into my ribs from behind, and a harsh voice
rasped in my ear, “Don’t make a move or a sound.”
I tensed myself, and my mind began to race. “You wouldn’t dare to shoot.
The guards would come running.”
“Oh, no, they wouldn’t.” My unseen captor laughed harshly. “My rod has a
perfect silencer. Be quick about it! Open the door!”
I thought, “Perhaps the gas will get him, too.” So I quickly inserted
the key in the lock, and turned it. A sweet pungent odor flooded over
me.
As I slumped weakly to the floor of the corridor, I twisted around to
observe the effect on my captor.
But he had stepped back out of the range of the gas. Nor could I
identify him, for a bandana was tied across his face.
* * * * *
When I came to my senses again, coughing, reeling with nausea, I was
lying handcuffed on a couch in the Blue Room, with a Medical Department
Major kneeling beside me. Standing by were the President, Morton Rust,
and two of my Secret Service body-guard.
The President’s face was grim and set. “Well, Farley,” he said, “I guess
we’ve spotted the White House leak at last. Cabot warned me that you
were not to be trusted. Why were you trying to enter his laboratory in
his absence?”
Still reeling from the effects of the sleeping-gas, I swung my feet
around and sat up dizzily on the couch. “I was looking for Cabot,” I
moaned.
“A likely story,” Rust cut in harshly.
“Where is Myles?” I demanded.
“I don’t know,” the President replied. “He left the building under
guard—destination unnamed.”
“But we’ve _got_ to find him. Some one held me up with a revolver and
made me open the laboratory door. Whoever did it, has probably wrecked
our almost completed apparatus. The White House is again at the mercy of
the invisible bomber, and this time he will probably bomb the White
House itself.”
“You ought to know,” Rust grated.
“We’ve got to find Cabot!” I persisted. “There is no time to lose. He
will vouch for me.”
“Thinking first of yourself, eh?” Rust laughed grimly.
“This is no laughing matter. Take my key, somebody, and see if my
assailant didn’t wreck all our apparatus. I couldn’t have done it, for I
fainted from the gas before I got in.”
“And now you want us to be gassed, too?” the President sarcastically
asked.
“I’ll open it myself.”
“It would be safer for all concerned,” said the President, “to keep
_you_ away from the laboratory. The apparatus is safe, for _you_ didn’t
quite reach it. And we’ll leave it strictly alone, until Cabot returns.”
The telephone rang, and the President answered it. I heard him give his
version of my arrest. Then, still holding the phone, he turned back to
us with, “It’s Cabot. He says he’ll be back in a couple of hours. He
seemed relieved that his gas-lock kept you from getting in.”
“Two hours!” I moaned. “Hell will be popping before then. Let me speak
to him.”
“You’ll speak to no one,” the President snapped. He hung up.
“Where did Cabot call from?” I persisted.
The President’s face fell. “I didn’t ask.”
“Have it traced! Please! Think of America!” I begged.
“I _am_ thinking of America.” Then, to the two Secret Service men, “Take
this fellow over to the State War and Navy Building and lock him up.”
So, kicking, struggling, and protesting, I went. Where was Cabot? Would
he return in time? But, even if he returned, what could he do, with our
apparatus all smashed?
Yet, such was my confidence in the Radio Man, that I felt he would do
something effective, if I could but reach him and give him the facts.
His mistrust of me pained me even more than the stubbornness of the
Chief Executive.
* * * * *
About an hour and a half later the guards came for me, and told me that
the President had sent for me. Perhaps he had seen the light. Perhaps he
had gotten in touch with Cabot again. Perhaps it was not too late.
But, as I and my guards entered the driveway of the White House, we
heard far to the southward the burring roar of an airplane motor. And
the blue sky was devoid of any plane to have caused that noise. The
three of us halted and gaped.
Soldiers came piling out of their tents on the White House lawn, whipped
the tarpaulin off of a three-inch gun, took their stations, and began
swinging the gun around in the general direction of the oncoming
invisible menace.
Futile gesture! What could they do without Cabot?
Now the planeless sound was almost over the White House.
“Commence firing!” shouted the Lieutenant in command.
The cartridges began passing rapidly from hand to hand, the nose of each
shell being poked into the fuse-setter beside the gun and twisted, just
before being inserted in the breech.
“Crack—crack—crack,” came the ear-splitting staccato explosion of the
gun, as its barrel slid backward and forward with rhythmic cadence.
With the same cadence a cluster of puffs of cotton-batting smoke began
to appear, one by one, in the distant blue above. The putt-putt-putt of
these little shell-bursts was wafted down to us.
And then suddenly we saw the shape of a huge bombing-plane, a twisted
and torn silvery shape, with parts flying away from it, hanging in
mid-air above the White House.
As this mass of wreckage hurtled toward us, we ducked and closed our
eyes.
“Cease firing!” shouted the Lieutenant.
Next we heard, as we cowered, the “boom” of the bursting plane—its own
not-yet-released bomb had evidently been hit—and then the crash behind
us, as the wreck landed on Lafayette Mall.
We sprang to our feet again, and stared around. A crowd of men were
running down the front steps of the White House toward us. And among
them was Myles Cabot.
The rest rushed past us toward the now-burning pile of wreckage, but
Cabot stopped by me.
“Awfully sorry, Ralph,” he panted. “But I had to use you as a decoy. My
apparatus was finished early this morning and moved out onto the lawn,
and hitched up to the fire-control. We almost caught the fellow who
gassed you, but he got away. So we figured that he would make an
immediate and final bombing attack, while he thought we were still
unprepared. Hence our false accusation of you.”
I grinned with relief. “Glad to have been of service.”
“Well, our job is over.” Then, to my guards, “Take off his handcuffs.”
* * * * *
We entered the White House. Cabot seemed to have lost all interest in
the fallen plane, on which fire-engines were now playing streams of
water.
The President received us, thanked us warmly, and apologized to me
profusely with a twinkle in his eye.
Morton Rust was there. “The stock market will boom,” he announced, “for
this is a case of unexpected news, and there was _no_ leak this time.
The market had dipped to new lows just before the attack. Too bad the
poor fellow who lies burned to a crisp over across the Avenue won’t be
able to cash in on the rise.” His voice sounded bitter. Then he grinned.
“Sorry, Ralph, that I had to join in the denunciation of you a short
while back.”
“You’re a darn good actor!” I exploded.
“Well,” Cabot announced, “I’m going back to the Hotel, and catch up on
some sleep. And what a relief not to be dogged by guards any more!”
As Myles and I strolled back alone to the Hotel Washington, I asked,
“And now tell me the secret of the plane’s invisibility.”
“Very simple. We used the same stunt on Venus in one war there. The
entire surface of the plane was a carefully rounded mirror, so that all
one could see when looking at it was the reflection of the sky beyond.
That is why the plane only flew in absolutely cloudless weather.”
We bought some special editions—“Extry! Extry! All about the
bomber”—and went up to our room. I felt let down, and slumped into a
chair. Cabot, too, sat down, but seemed unable to relax—he had been
under too much of a strain, I suppose. After all, the responsibility all
through had been his, not mine.
For a while we read our newspapers in silence. The market had already
begun to soar. The body in the plane had proved absolutely
unrecognizable—but had been shipped over to the laboratories of the F.
B. I. for measurement of the bones and study of the teeth.
“Was it Sedgwick, I wonder?” I asked.
“We’ll know it was, if he is never seen again,” Cabot replied. “But I
rather imagine that the flyer was not the real party at interest. Poor
man! He was probably just a tool.”
* * * * *
I snapped out of my lethargy.
“Then why are we sitting here unguarded? We are less safe now than at
any time since we left Cambridge!”
“I’m well armed,” Cabot laughed. “My bag of Cupian tricks is not yet
exhausted. Suppose you run down to the lobby and buy a late edition.
When you return, knock three times and give your name. I’ll sit facing
the door, and keep my eyes open.” He took a forty-five out of his
pocket, and toyed with it.
“By the way,” I asked, “did the check-up of the Stock Exchange produce
any clues?”
Cabot shook his head. “We made the mistake of setting a $1,000 share
limit. News of that fact must have leaked, too. The guilty man must have
operated under several aliases, and always at lower figures. Now run
along and buy your paper. I’ll be all right.”
I returned, reading the paper as I plodded down the hotel corridor.
Absent-mindedly I rapped three times on the door of our room.
It was flung open in my face, and I found myself staring into the muzzle
of a revolver, around which bulged the vanes of a Cutts silencer. The
face behind the weapon was masked. Behind him stood another man, back to
us, covering the motionless seated figure of Myles Cabot. Cabot had
evidently forgotten his promise to me, for his chair was turned to face
the window, and only the top of his head was visible from where I stood.
I wondered if he still held his forty-five, and whether he would risk
using it.
“Will you please to step into the room and close the door softly behind
you,” commanded a suave voice, quite different from the harsh tones of
the man who had trapped me at the laboratory. I did as directed. “And
now will you please to stand over there by the window.” I started to
obey, keeping a wary eye on the gun which menaced me.
“Get up, damn you, Cabot!” the other intruder rasped. “I told you that
once before, and would have shot you by now for disobeying, only I
wanted to wait until your friend came back. Stand up, damn you, and
stick up your hands.”
By this time I had reached the window, and was standing beside Cabot’s
chair, my eyes still glued to the weapon of my captor.
“Anything to oblige,” spoke Cabot’s cool voice, from the closet-door
behind the two men—_not_ from the chair where he seemed to sit. “Don’t
look now, but I have both of you covered. And I have already rung for
the G-men, who have been waiting in the next room. That’s only a
clothing-store dummy in that chair. Farley, take their guns.”
I did so.
“Now snatch off their masks.”
I did that, too. The one with the harsh voice was our classmate, Morton
Rust. The other was a stranger.
“I suspected you nearly from the start, Morton,” Cabot continued in a
level tone, tinged with sadness, as the Federal operatives entered and
shackled the two men. “The stock market reacted just a bit too
perfectly.”
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RADIO MAN RETURNS ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg
Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza #516,
Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
