Elena appeared in the office doorway.
“I just received Detective Brandon’s list of guests who recently checked in at the other hotels, inns, and B and Bs in town,” she said.
Oliver looked up from the list of new arrivals at the Burning Cove Hotel. “Several of the so-called singles from back east on my list are actually traveling with a personal maid or a private secretary. I’ve excluded them. That leaves me with eight names. How many on Brandon’s list?”
“Another twenty in all, but most are from California—L.A. or San Francisco for the most part. Our hotel gets the majority of the East Coast crowd here because, like the Beverly Hills Hotel and the Biltmore in L.A., we are quite well-known.”
“The benefits of advertising. Thanks, Elena.”
This was, he concluded, probably one of the few times in the history of the industry that the proprietor of a hotel hoped his establishment’s reputation for elegance and service had served as a lure to attract a killer.
Never a dull moment these days. Not with Irene around.
Elena put the list on his desk and went back to the doorway, where she paused and gently cleared her throat.
Oliver looked up again, suddenly wary.
“What is it?” he said.
“I just wanted to say that you are looking very well today.”
“Have I been looking unwell previously?”
“No, sir. It’s just that you seem to be in excellent spirits today. Especially considering the circumstances.”
Nothing like hunting for a killer to put a man in an upbeat mood, Oliver reflected.
“Probably the three cups of coffee I drank at breakfast,” he said.
Elena chuckled. “No doubt.”
“Remember, not a word about these lists and the people on them.”
“Understood.”
She was about to close the door but stopped when the outer door burst open. Chester charged into the front office.
“Where’s Oliver?” he demanded.
“Right here,” Oliver called through the opening. “Come on in, Chester.”
Chester rushed into the room, bristling with excitement. He had Atherton’s notebook in one hand.
“Wait until I tell you what’s in this thing,” he said.
“Sit down,” Oliver said. He looked at Elena. “That’s all for now. Thanks.”
She left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Chester put the notebook down on the desk and dropped into one of the chairs. “What do you know about radio waves?”
“I know how to turn on a radio and I know how to turn it off. Why?”
“Radio waves are a form of electromagnetic radiation and they have several very interesting properties. Most metal objects, for example, reflect radio waves.”
“So?”
“So the British and the U.S. military have been conducting secret research designed to see if radio waves can be used to detect airplanes at a considerable distance and ships at sea.”
Understanding began to dawn. “I’m listening,” Oliver said.
“The work is still in the experimental stage. I’m told the Brits are ahead of us because they’re so damned worried about Germany. But other nations, including Russia, Germany, and Japan, are also doing research in this area. There are serious limitations with the current equipment—the antennas are huge and the wavelengths are too long—but, theoretically, utilizing a pulsing technique and shorter wavelengths, it should be possible to build a compact device that would allow radio waves to detect ships at sea.”
“To help avoid collisions?”
“Sure, but what interests the U.S. Navy is the possibility of using radio waves to find enemy vessels at a distance. Currently, the process for aiming a battleship’s big guns involves the risk of getting close enough to the target to see where the shells land. After you get a visual on the first shot, you calibrate the next shot and so on. In addition, all sorts of other information must be cranked into the calculations—the pitch and roll of the ship, for example. It’s complicated work that must be done at close range, which entails a lot of risk.”
Oliver picked up the notebook. “Are you telling me that Atherton’s calculations have something to do with engineering a device that uses radio waves to detect enemy ships?”
“Not just that,” Chester said. He popped up out of his seat and began to pace the office. “If I’m right, that book contains the calculations and specifications needed to construct a very advanced rangekeeper, one that incorporates the radio wave detector I just told you about.”
“A rangekeeper?”
“They’re the calculating machines that the Navy uses to direct the firing of long-range guns on board a ship. If the machine described in that notebook gets built—and if it works as it’s designed to work—it will give the Navy a very big advantage in the next war.”
“If there is another war.”
Chester stopped pacing. He heaved a sigh, took out a handkerchief, and began polishing his glasses.
“As long as human nature is what it is, I’m afraid there will always be another war,” he said quietly.
“And people tell me that I’m cynical.” Oliver tapped the notebook. “What about the laboratory where Atherton worked?”
Chester put on his glasses. “It will probably come as no surprise to you that the Saltwood Laboratory is rumored to be working on a secret military project. They’ve got a contract with the Navy. Very hush-hush.”
“And Atherton?”
Chester grunted. “No one seems to know anything about him aside from the fact that he’s dead. Car accident.”
“I suppose it would be too easy to just telephone the Saltwood lab and ask them to send someone out to Burning Cove to pick up this damned notebook.”
Chester gave him a grim look. “You do that and the next thing you know this hotel will be crawling with government agents. You’re in the middle of a major espionage case, Oliver. Anyone who knows anything about the notebook, including Miss Glasson and you, will become suspects. You might be able to talk yourselves out of trouble eventually, but once you get on a government list, you’re on it for life.”
“You know, my job was a lot simpler when all I had to worry about was catching a couple of killers.”