Episode 37: The Mysterious Box
It was a plain wooden box, somewhat taller than it was wide. A pair of
metal D-rings were attached to the sides -- apparently so it could fitted
with a shoulder strap, though there was no sign of this. A hinged top was
held shut by two worn brass clasps.
"This was all you found?" asked Everett.
"Oui," said Pierre. "There was plenty of other unclaimed luggage in
the depot, including a very rare Arabic manuscript that would have fetched a
nice price in certain places I know, but this was the only item that
belonged to our missing Russian."
"Do you think itís a bomb, sir?" asked Iverson. "Perhaps the man was an
Everett shook his head, remembering the War. "I donít think so," he replied.
"The world has had enough of faiths and creeds. This must be the clock
Flemingís lady friend was telling him about."
"She wasnít exactly my..." began the young Australian, but Everett had
already undone the clasps and flipped back the lid.
"It doesnít look like much of a clock," said Iverson after a moment.
Abercrombie scowled. "It doesnae look like much of anything."
Indeed, the contents of the box told no tales. A flat wooden panel, fitted
with a meter, a knob, a toggle, and a speaker, filled most of the space. A
metal tube, similar to a flashlight, completed the assembly. This was held
in place by clips, and attached to a cable that plugged into a socket below
the speaker. Everett unclipped the tube and examined it, looking for
switches or other controls. At last, unable to divine the thing's purpose,
he passed it to Jenkins.
"I donít have any idea either, sir," said the signalman. He poised his hand
over the toggle. "May I?"
Everett shrugged. "If it was going to blow up, I imagine it would have done
so by now."
Jenkins flipped the switch. After a delay while the electronics warmed up,
the box began to emit an irregular ticking noise. There was no perceptible
pattern to these ticks. They occurred at unpredictable intervals, like the
complaints of some broken piece of machinery.
"Try the knob," suggested MacKiernan.
A moment of experimentation showed that when the knob was turned to the
right, the rate of ticks increased. When it was turned the other way, the
rate declined. The dial seemed to measure the average rate, but the ticks
themselves remained random.
"If thatís a clock," said Iverson, "there must be something dreadfully wrong
"I wouldnít be so certain," mused Jenkins. "Philosophers have suggested that
different cultures may have profoundly different perceptions of time.
Perhaps this clock conforms to some peculiar Russian sensibility that
Englishmen are unequipped to appreciate."
"Perhaps," said Everett dubiously. He pulled the box toward him with his
right hand and reached for the tube with his left. "Jenkins, may I have that
for a moment?"
As Jenkins handed over the tube, an outburst of clicks emerged from the box.
"What the?" exclaimed Abercrombie.
"Itís a captain detector!" laughed Sarah.
"Thatís not possible!" said MacKiernan indignantly. "Can I see that, sir?"
Everett held out the tube. As the Exec took it, the clicking slowed.
"See," said Sarah, "I told you! It detects officers of command rank and
"Still impossible," grumbled the Irishman. He passed the tube to his left
hand and reached for the box with his right. As he did so, the clicks
intensified. He paused for a moment, eyebrows raised in puzzlement, then
passed the tube back to his other hand. The clicks grew fainter.
"How," he asked, "can a wooden box tell my right hand from my left?"
"Could be useful if yeíve had too much ta drink," said Abercrombie.
"Sir," said Jenkins to Everett. "Might I trouble you to roll back your left
The Captain did so, revealing a brawny wrist, an interesting scar, and
sturdy watch. Jenkins nodded, took the tube, and passed it over the
timepiece. This produced an intense chorus of clicks.
"I suspected as much," said the signalman. "Itís a radium detector. Iíve
heard of such things. Itís detecting the luminous digits on your watch."
"Why would anyone want to detect radium?" asked Sarah.
"The substance does have some medicinal uses," Jenkins observed.
"These hardly seem valuable enough to justify espionage, piracy, murder, and
acts of war," said Everett.
"Could it involve some manufacturing process?" asked Abercrombie. "The
Governor on Sarahís island had connections with industrialists back in
"Perhaps they hope to control the worldís supply of illuminated watch dials,"
The rigger glanced at him.
"I wasnít serious."
"What about radium rays?" asked Iverson. "I remember that the Warlord of
Mongor had a big cannon that used radium to... and I was wondering if..."
his voice trailed off awkwardly.
"That was just a radio show, lad" said Abercrombie gently.
"Maybe it military," said Iwamoto.
Faces turned to stare. Never before had they known the engineer to
interrupt a conversation. Indeed, theyíd rarely known him to speak at all.
"This uraninite," he said. "Very much dense. Very much hard. Maybe good for
alloys. Alloys for armor. Alloys for bullets and shells."
"Refined uraninite projectiles," mused Everett. "It could be possible. Letís
have a look at our ore samples."
To no oneís surprise, the radium detector, if thatís what it really was,
reacted to both samples. But it reacted more strongly to the sample from
Sarahís island -- speaker clicking wildly as the needle slammed against its
"Interesting," said Everett. "This may be another piece of our puzzle, but
Iím not quite sure what it means. If anyone has any suggestions, please let
me know. Now I believe itís time we got back to work."
Remembering the recent hijacking attempt, the crew of the
Flying Cloud set careful watches, with a regular system of reports
so theyíd know if anyone went missing. Evening passed uneventfully, but
towards midnight, when Loris arrived at the bow station to take his turn as
sentry, he was surprised to find Davies at the post.
"Whereís Wallace?" he asked. "I thought this was his watch."
"He asked me to take over," said the marine. "I believe Miss Helga required
his assistance with some matter."
"Miss Helga?" Lorisís eyes widened. "Oh dear."
Next week: The Secret of Speed...