For the second time, the Gregory Party has escaped from the Magic Island.
And as they race along under the sea in a Euclidean submarine,
putting 40 more miles between themselves with every hour,
it looks as if all should be well.
But nothing connected with the Magic Island is ever just what it seems to be.
Captain Bradford, Mrs. Gregory, and Jerry Hall
have been enjoying themselves as Joan explains the working of the stolen submarine.
But the fun is over when their radio picks up a warning signal from Euclidea.
Joan is explaining that it will be impossible for them to intercept any messages
without giving away their own position.
But we've just got to sit still and listen to that thing howl.
We can't even get any messages out.
We will be able to send no communications while the Euclidean transmission beam is in operation, Jerry.
I can't understand it, Joan.
You say that Euclidean radio is working on a wavelength far shorter than anything in our world.
Yes, Mother.
Well then why can't we use the radio in this submarine?
Use it on the common broadcast band or commercial shortwave and be perfectly safe.
We would interrupt that signal we are now hearing.
I don't see how.
I believe I do, Jerry.
As long as that signal continues without interruption,
G-47 has no way of finding out that we are even receiving it here.
But if we cut it off to move from that wavelength,
the action will be registered on the recording graphs at the island.
Locating a send would be a mighty simple matter.
And we don't even dare to stop that noise.
It would be very unwise.
Well, it sure gets on my nerves.
Well, don't let it bother you too much.
It's better to have a few shivers running up and down your back
than it would be for G-47 to locate.
Oh, I'll say it is.
You're right, Tex.
Why, it stopped.
Yeah, and I can get along swell without it.
I guess none of us will miss it much.
If you wish to act quickly, you may try to reach Johnson now.
We can use the radio to send him a message?
I would not attempt that as yet.
However, you know the wavelength of the boat Johnson is now on.
And you know he will be transmitting almost a constant signal to you.
I would suggest opening our set to that wavelength for reception.
But we will have only 90 seconds.
90 seconds? For what?
The Euclidean beam will be off for 90 seconds.
Well, then hurry. Put that set on six meters.
Very well, Captain.
I will observe the time carefully and return the radio to normal
in time to receive the Euclidean beam.
We must be very careful not to run over into it.
I've got the receiver on six meters.
That's where we last heard from Johnson.
But Tex, he was on a boat then running to Los Angeles.
Don't you think he should be home by this time?
I wonder about that.
Well, he'd be trying to reach us just the same, wouldn't he?
Possibly not, Jerry.
If Johnson is in Los Angeles, he's very busy trying to arrange a rescue party.
Yes, and being laughed at every time he tells his story.
Yeah, I guess that's right.
Nobody would believe Johnson's story about what happened to us.
The fact that you have not returned should offer ample proof
that all is not well with you.
And if Johnson is clever, he will succeed in making your friends
understand your position.
We'll organize a rescue all right, Joan, but that takes time.
Well, we don't seem to be doing ourselves any good on the radio.
Don't be too impatient, Jerry.
We may have to listen for hours to get any word from Johnson.
You have a powerful private transmitter at your home, have you not, Mother?
Why, yes, Joan.
Would it not be wise to...
Wait, let me have the radio controls, Jerry.
It is time for the Euclidean beam.
I will make the change quickly.
Glad you remembered that, Joan.
Wouldn't be so good to run over into their signal.
Silence.
Boy, you sure didn't give yourself any time to spare.
You just barely got the set changed over when that signal came in.
I was quite conscious of the passing of time.
You've got more compass than you watch tonight, haven't you, my dear?
What if that Euclidean beam had started a little early?
What if they hadn't waited their full 90 seconds?
Well, we'd just be on our way back to the islands
and spend more time worrying with the things they give prisoners to do on Euclidia.
Everything is constant on Euclidia.
When a Euclidean is told that the location beams are transmitted constantly
with 90-second intervals and 60 seconds of activity,
you may be sure that you will be allowed exactly 90 seconds of silence between transmissions.
Well, we'll take your word for it, Joan.
You certainly know a whole lot more about G-47 and his scientists than we do.
But I'd suggest that you be ready to use the whole 90 seconds listening for Johnson when that beam stops.
Yes, Joan, dear.
We must be ready to switch to our own wavelength at once.
I had anticipated that.
You'll want to put the set on one and one-half meters.
The radio will be set to one and one-half meters.
The instant Euclidia's beam is silent.
Not much chance of hearing anything from Johnson now, though.
He won't be sending night and day.
I'm inclined to believe that he may be, Tex.
He can easily get any number of amateurs to work in shifts for him.
Well, hey, there goes the beam.
Change the wavelength, Joan.
I have changed it.
You sure work fast.
When time is computed in seconds, it is well not wasted.
Well, let's be quiet a minute and see if we can hear anything.
Not a sound.
It is possible that your transmitter in Los Angeles is very weak
and might not reach us clearly underwater.
I will soundproof the submarine.
Soundproof the submarine?
What do you mean, Joan?
I will close the visibility slides.
The outer shell is not soundproof,
and we may safely run by instruments alone.
And we'll just tear along underwater
without being able to see where we're going?
We will remain on our course.
Visibility is of no value to us at the moment.
Why, that's wonderful, Joan.
This is practically soundproof.
The silence would be perfect,
except for the fact that I have one vent open for securing fresh water.
Oh, how about that water you promised us?
Now, don't worry about that now, Jerry.
Let's hope we may hear something from J-12C.
Yes, J-12C is the call of our home station, Joan.
And Johnson also used it when he brought the rescue boat to the Magic Island.
I understand that.
We heard all of your messages.
Yeah, I know.
Old G-47 said he listened to us all the way from Wilmington to Euclidia.
Our arrival wasn't much of a surprise to you, was it, Joan?
No, Mother, though I had no thought as to what any of you would be like, I...
Joan, did you have the set changed over in time?
With at least five seconds margin, Captain Redford.
Five seconds?
Oh, sure, five seconds is a long time to Joan.
Wait till I get home, and she has to wait half an hour for a bus on some street corner.
She'll find out that seconds don't mean so much.
A second is important.
You're right, of course, Joan.
But what Jerry means is that in our world, we treat seconds pretty carelessly.
I'm beginning to learn something of their value now, however.
Those 90-second pauses in the Euclidean beam,
90 seconds in which we might hear something from Johnson,
they seem awfully short.
Well, I'll say they do.
And I'm getting blamed tired of that carrier wave squealing at us all the time.
Now, take it easy, Jerry.
As long as we hear that thing every minute and a half,
we know the Euclideans have no idea where we are.
You are wise, Captain Tex.
Any interruption of that beam might well be fatal to our plans.
Well, I know how serious it is,
but the next time you get one of those 90-second pauses,
how about making us a drink of water?
The water is being prepared now, Jerry.
Being prepared? How?
Quiet. The beam is gone.
And Johnson's taking a little nap.
Are you trying to pick up a signal on one and one half meters, Joan?
Yes, Mother.
Well, why not try six meters again?
If that was a very slow boat Johnson was on, he might still be en route to California.
Good idea, Mrs. Gregory.
Yeah, plenty good.
We might try alternating between the two bands.
That will not be necessary.
I will set the automatic wave selector on those two bands.
A signal will register on either.
Is there anything that Euclidean radio won't do?
Apparently not.
Are the two bands open now, Joan?
They are.
Yeah, and not a signal from either of them.
Don't be impatient, Jerry.
It may take hours to get a signal from Johnson.
He might be just landing from that boat.
It would take him some time to get to the house and start the other set.
Oh, I think not, Tex.
Johnson would surely have radioed my home and given orders for them to try to reach us.
Well, he might not, Mrs. Gregory.
No, maybe he doesn't want to advertise his business too much.
I think maybe Jerry's right, Pat.
Johnson can't say very much over the air without getting the press and commercial radio stirred up.
Then he'll have them in his way.
Well, we may have to appeal to the government in this before we get through.
Johnson knows we want to play a lone hand as long as we can.
I think you will find that your Mr. Johnson is safely in Los Angeles.
You must have patience.
I know you think we're very excitable and foolish, Joan.
But you're far more accustomed to these happenings than we are.
Hey, there it is again.
Another 90 seconds wasted.
How about a drink, Joan?
Those food tablets we had sure made me thirsty.
That is purely your imagination, Jerry.
Those tablets contain enough moisture to sustain you for some hours.
However, we will now have some fresh water.
You will find drinking vessels in that small sliding receptacle behind you, Mother.
I can reach it easier than you can, Pat.
Here they are.
Jerry, you will find a small sealed tube directly above the duplicate control on your side.
Right here?
Correct.
Will you turn the cap on that tube and fill the cups?
Oh, sure.
Hey, this thing acts like a soda fountain.
What is a soda fountain?
Well, you'll find out when we get back home.
Here, Mrs. Gregory.
Oh, thank you, Jerry.
And here's one for you, Joan.
Thank you, Jerry.
Joan, the radio.
Yes, Mother. I have opened the receiving channels.
Here's a drink for you, Tex.
Thanks, Jerry.
Well, I'll get one for myself.
J-12C to J-24Y.
J-12C to Captain Bradford.
It's Johnson.
Quiet, Jerry.
J-12C calling Gregory Boat.
Wilmington to Gregory Boat.
Wilmington.
No signal from you for hours.
We'll continue trying to reach you,
making preparations expected of me.
It'll take 72 hours to complete plans.
J-12C to J-24Y.
J-12C calling J-24Y.
We'll repeat every 10 minutes.
That is all. Johnson.
He's home.
Oh, Tex. Johnson is home. He's home.
He's working on our plan.
Only 72 hours to finish it, he said.
What did he mean by that?
Tex's formula. Wasn't that it, Tex?
Yes. Johnson knows our only hope to capture Euclidia
is to compound my formula and use that as a weapon.
Are you quite sure that Johnson can compound your universal solvent?
Positive. He has the true formula.
John. Oh, it's lucky you thought to change that back.
I was so excited, I forgot.
It is not wise to put excitement before duty.
Good idea, Joan, if we could always remember it.
Well, let's have a drink of the water
that was made from salt water on a Euclidian submarine.
You were going to explain how you made it, Joan.
I will do so now, Mother.
There is a small channel in the outer shell of the submarine
through which a fine stream of salt water rushes
at such speed as to reach the boiling point.
It is a simple matter to utilize this almost automatic distillation process
and draw off a stream of pure fresh water.
Think of that, Pat.
We're racing through the ocean fast enough to make water boil.
Well, it may be my imagination,
as Joan said it was with Jerry,
or my throat may be dry from excitement,
but I certainly need this drink.
So do I. Here goes.
Thanks to Joan and the Euclideans,
we can drink fresh water under eight fathoms of salt water.
Well, here's to our safe arrival in Los Angeles.
Hey, my cup's empty.
You emptied it in the excitement of hearing Johnson call.
Well, golly whiskers.
I've got all that trouble to get a drink, and I have to spill it.