“I wish I had the book on how to make a directional finder,” said Nigel.
“When do you think the library will get it?” asked his dad.
“Hopefully this week,” Nigel replied. “But, come to think of it, there’s another way we could find out approximately where the signal’s coming from. We could put up another aerial at each location but put it at right angles to the first one. The aerial that points more directly towards the transmitter will collect more energy and the signal from it will be louder. We could add an extra one here, Grandpa. There’s several trees we could use to do that.”
“You couldn’t put another one at our house, Nigel. There’s only the one tree and you’ve used it.”
“I could have another one,” said Bob. “Though it would be more like seventy degrees from the first one.”
“Doesn’t matter that much,” said Nigel. “Where would it go?”
“To the other end of the barn.”
“How are you going to hear two signals at the same time?” asked Jack.
“Hmm. I know,” said Nigel. “I’ll connect both aerials to a two-way switch. That way we can easily switch from one to the other. Yes, that’ll work,” he exclaimed. “Okay, I’ll go home and get the wire now.”
“I’ll need some too,” said Bob.
“Okay. Won’t be long,” and Nigel dashed off.
“He’s going to be a scientist when he grows up,” said his grandfather.
“Pity,” said his dad. “I was hoping he’d become a solicitor, like you and me. I had hoped he’d take over my partnership.”
“Where’s Nigel rushing to?” asked Mrs. Thorne, as she walked in with biscuits, coffee and lemonade.
Gerry told his mother what they were planning to do and added, “We’ll help him put it up. Don’t worry about him climbing, he’ll be all right.”
“Bob or I could climb it, I expect,” said Nigel. “We’re used to climbing trees.”
“We’ll see how difficult it is before deciding,” Gerry said.
“Biscuits, anyone?” Mrs. Thorne said, and she passed the plate around.
All three boys climbed the tree for it was not difficult and the second aerial was fastened to it the same way as the first aerial. The end at the house was tied to a wooden block that Nigel screwed into the window shutter.
“Let’s see if it works,” said Nigel.
They heard only one signal, but it was enough to demonstrate that the two aerials received it at different intensities.
“It’s going to help,” said Nigel, “but probably won’t be accurate enough to pin down one house.”
“It’ll help a lot if it narrows it down enough to one area,” said Jack.
“It’s time to collect your mother, Jack. I won’t be long,” said Mr. Thorne.
They arrived back just as the lunch gong sounded. The others came down from upstairs and they all went into the dining room.
Over lunch Nigel said he hoped they’d find the spy before he had to go to school which reminded Mrs. Jones that Jack would need to buy the school uniform.
“Does anyone know who sells the grammar school uniform?”
“It’s Mr. Pott’s shop, on Millington Street,” said Bob. “I got mine from them last week. Trousers, long and short, white shirts, a blazer, school tie and a cap. Cost a lot and dad wondered if it would be worth it!”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Jones. “Well, we’ll manage. I’ve still got quite a bit from the sale of mom’s house. Just don’t grow out of them too quickly, Jack.”
Nigel gave Bob the wire for his second aerial when he left after lunch.
“When should I come round to add the aerial switch?” Nigel asked.
“I’m at the farm most of the time now that Jack’s working. How about tomorrow at ten?”
“All right, and Grandpa, I’ll come tomorrow afternoon and put your switch in. Will that be all right?”
“Come for lunch, Nigel,” said his grandmother. “How about you, Gerry.”
“If you’re feeding Nigel then, yes, I’ll come too.”
“How about you, Mary? You’ll be here so you might as well have lunch with us.”
“Yes, that’d be nice,” added Gerry. “I can drive you home afterwards.”
“Well, thank you. That would be very nice,” said Mary Jones. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Chapter Fifteen. Monday, August 19th.
Mrs. Jones seemed very happy when Jack arrived home Monday night. He was wondering if the lunch had been especially good and then she told him that Gerry was taking her to the pictures Tuesday evening.
“Did he invite me too?” he asked.
“Err, no, he didn’t. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not mom. I’m glad you’re going.”
“We’ll go together sometime, Jack, but we haven’t the money to spend that way these days.”
“I don’t mind mom. I hope you have a good time.”
As he lay in bed that night he thought about his mother and Gerry Thorne. ‘I wonder if they like each other enough to get married? Then Nigel and I would be step brothers. It’d be fun to have a brother, though I’d still like Bob best. Nigel’s all right but, ah, it’s silly to think about this, they’re only going to the pictures. But,’ and he drifted off to sleep.
Nigel checked the library every afternoon that week and the book was waiting for him on Thursday. He sat at the table and looked through it immediately. The history of direction finding, it’s use, the development of various kinds of direction finding aerials and some complicated diagrams of loops and wireless circuits filled the book’s pages. There was an early, simple loop he could make and a formula that explained how it’s size should compliment the frequency it would be tuned to. ‘Something between two and three feet should be good enough,’ he guessed, and cycled home thinking about how he would hold the coil vertically and rotate it at the same time.
He spent most of Friday making the aerial. Four pieces of thin wood, cut from one of his grandfather’s trees formed a square. He had read that the loop didn’t need to be a circle, a square shape would also work, and that was easy to make. A thicker length of wood, nailed vertically onto a foot-square board, held the square vertically. ‘I’ll use it tomorrow night. I’m sure dad won’t mind me staying up late.’
As they were washing the supper dishes Friday evening, Mrs. Jones told Jack that she saw Gerry at lunch time. “He came to Harry’s house and drove me home when I had finished and asked if he could take me out to dinner tonight. I said yes, I hope you don’t mind. You can still have fish and chips if you like.”
“Oh, mom, you’ve got a boy friend!”
“Well I like him. He’s a nice, considerate man. Do you like him?”
“Yes, of course. Have you kissed him?”
“Jack, you shouldn’t ask your mother that kind of thing, but yes, I did, when he brought me home after the pictures on Tuesday.”
“Well, I’m glad. As long as he makes you happy, I’m happy.” His mother gave him a hug.
“Hey, mom. I’ve been thinking about the spy. Do you mind if I sleep at Bob’s place Saturday night? I’m missing all the fun since I don’t have a wireless set.”
“You can, if Mrs. Forester will let you.”
“Thanks, I’ll go and ask her.”
It wasn’t the first time Jack had slept at Bob’s house. They used to do that several times a year, mostly at the end of a school term or on a birthday. The Foresters had a camp bed that they put in Bob’s room.
Jack asked Bob what he thought about him sleeping over on Saturday then, once Bob had agreed, asked Mrs. Forester if he could.
“Yes, of course, Jack,” she said, laughing, “though I remember that the last time you did that you said the bed wasn’t very comfortable.”
Saturday morning Jack and his mother caught the bus to the centre of Mansworth and walked to Mr. Pott’s haberdashery. Fifty minutes later they walked out with two large paper-wrapped packages and
four weeks of Jack and his mother’s earnings less.
“Never mind the cost, Jack. You look very smart in the school uniform. I wish my mother could see you wearing them, she’d be very happy.”
Mr. Forester joined the boys in Bob’s bedroom Saturday night just before twelve o’clock as they listened for the signal. Several times earlier Bob had heard faint signals and he used them to practice switching from one aerial to another and comparing strengths. There was a distinct difference between using each aerial, the signal received from one was almost always stronger than the signal received from the other.
At midnight Bob and Jack, for they had removed the headphones from the head strap and held it to their ears, heard the spy’s burst of transmission. It was long enough for Bob to quickly switch between aerials five times. “It’s the new aerial that’s stronger, dad. The sound is always stronger on that aerial.”
“Yes. That’s right,” said Jack, “then the new aerial must be pointed more directly towards the transmitter than the old one.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Forester. “Let’s find out what the others have heard. I’ll phone them.”
They went down to the kitchen and listened as he talked, first to Gerry Thorne then to Gerry’s father.
“We’ve got him,” said Jack. “With their results we should be able to find where the spy lives.”
Gerry and the boys met at Nigel’s grandfather’s house at ten Sunday morning and gathered around the map which Gerry had spread on the dining room table. First Nigel drew a pencil line through Bob’s house in the direction the new, strong-signal-receiving aerial was pointing.
“The signal could have come from either direction along that line but I bet his house is near the sea so I’m going to ignore the direction pointing inland.” Then he added another line on each side of the pencilled line, starting at the aerial but angled out a few degrees. “The signal could be coming from anywhere within this triangular area, we just don’t know exactly where,” Nigel said.
Next he did the same for the direction the strong-signal antenna was pointing at from his grandfather’s house and added widening lines on each side.
“These areas overlap,” said Nigel. “Just what I expected,” and he drew a circle around the area which both pencilled triangles covered. “He’ll live within that area. Now let’s see what the loop signal tells us. He added a similar but narrower triangle emanating from his house. It, also, pointed to an area within the circle. Nigel made a somewhat smaller circle where all signal areas overlapped. “He’ll live somewhere within that circle.”
The small circle enclosed a portion of the Coastal Trail, a road that ran from the parking lot that lay besides the trail to Mansworth and a short dead-end road that joined the Mansworth road. Five houses lay along the side road.
“He must live in one of those,” cried Jack.
Chapter Sixteen. Sunday. August 25th.
“Okay,” said Gerry. “Let’s sit down and talk about what we should do next.”
After they had all found a place on the chesterfield or on a chair in the lounge Gerry said, “I know the name of the road that runs to the parking lot, it’s Tuft’s Lane, and I can easily find out who owns each house. I’ll do that tomorrow. Once we know who lives there we can investigate their backgrounds.”
“The police can do that for us,” said Jack.
“I don’t think they would,” said Nigel’s grandfather, “not until we have more evidence that someone there is a spy.”
“Well, someone must be,” said Nigel. “The signal definitely comes from one of those houses.”
“If only we knew which one,” said his grandfather. “I’m sure they’d investigate one person, but five? I don’t think they’d work on five. They’re short-staffed, like everyone else. Many of the policemen have joined the forces.”
“We can narrow it down,” said Nigel. “I could make two more loop aerials and since they’re crystal sets they don’t need electricity; we can use them near to the houses and find out which one he’s transmitting from.”
“Hmm, that’s a good idea,” said his dad, “provided we wouldn’t be seen. We’d have to find out if there’s any place nearby where we could hide.”
“One of us would have to be with each lad,” said Nigel’s grandfather. “I wouldn’t like them to go alone. I can go and you can, Gerry. Who’d be the third?”
“My dad,” said Bob.
“Oh, yes. I talked to him last night. All right.”
“Nigel and I can look around the area tomorrow,” said Bob.
“You’d have to be careful. What would you say if anyone asked you why you were there?”
“We’ll take some baskets and tell them we’re looking for blackberries.”
“Yes, that should work. Don’t make any notes while you’re there.”
“No,” said Nigel, “we’ll just look for places where we can hide and monitor the houses.”
“All right,” said Gerry. “Let’s meet here tomorrow night, I should know who owns those houses by then.”
“I’ve got a meeting tomorrow evening,” said his dad. “Meet at your place, Gerry. Phone me after ten and tell me what you’ve found out.”
It rained all morning on Monday and, sensibly, Bob never turned up at Nigel’s place. It wasn’t enough rain to stop Nigel from cutting more branches from the tree and making two more loop aerials. This time he made them about two feet across; his first aerial was three feet wide but it was awkward to hold still and turn. A two foot aerial would be much easier. Also, they would be very close to the transmitter so they would pick up plenty of signal and a smaller aerial would be good enough.
Bob and Jack cycled to Nigel’s home that evening, arriving at seven, eager to learn who lived in the houses. They sat down in the lounge and Gerry began to talk.
“I learned their names and when they bought the properties. I think we can rule out three of them right away. First, Ray Watsonby, he owns the largest farm around Mansworth, inherited from his father. He’s lived here all his life and I meet him now and again. Next, Ken Knowleton. He’s the police inspector, so I’m sure we don’t have to worry about him. Lastly, Ted Launder. He’s one of the doctors at the hospital. Bought his place in 1935, I often see him at the club. I don’t know anything about the other two, a Mr. Walter Peansbury and a Mr. Michael Sylvester. They bought their houses in 1938. They’re both married, their wives names are on the property deeds.”
“Do you know which houses they live in,” said Jack.
“Yes. Here, you can see where each one lives, I written every owner’s name against their house.” He opened the map which was on the side table next to his chair, folded it and passed it to Bob who was sitting next to him.
“Nigel tells me you didn’t go picking blackberries today, Bob.”
“No. It rained this morning and it would have been too wet. It would look silly if anyone saw us. Dad wants me to help him tomorrow so I can’t go with you then, Nigel. Do you want to go alone?”
“No, don’t do that,” said Nigel’s father. “How about Wednesday, can you go then, Bob?”
“Yes, I can. I could be here at ten, would that be okay with you Nigel?”
“Yes, that’d be fine. The blackberry bushes will be quite dry then. Bring two baskets when you come. I don’t think we have any.”
“Okay. We’ve got lots.”
“I made two loop aerials today,” said Nigel. “Next time we meet I’ll show you and Jack how to use them.”
“How about meeting Wednesday evening?” said Gerry. “I’ll come and collect you and your dad, Bob, and your mom, Jack. Everybody will want an update on what we know and you wouldn’t have to carry the wirelesses on your bikes that way. We’ll meet at my father’s place, I know he’s in that night.”
“It’ll be a bit of a squeeze in the car, dad,” said Nigel.
“Oh, I’ve had five of us in there before. It’ll be all right.”
“Then we’ll practice using the loop aerials
afterwards,” said Nigel.
Chapter Seventeen. Wednesday. August 28th.
Nigel and Bob cycled to the parking lot at the end of Tuft’s Lane Wednesday morning and left their bicycles propped against the fence separating the lot from the Coastal Trail.
“There should be plenty of places to hide,” whispered Bob, “it’s all rolling ground, bushes and small trees. I think it must have been a field that the owner couldn’t farm.”
“Yes,” said Nigel, quietly. “We’ll circle the place but we shouldn’t whisper any more, it’s suspicious. We’ll just talk about blackberries or about school.”
“Okay,” said Bob. “Let’s look around here, Nigel. Should be some berries somewhere.”
They began exploring the area on the eastern side, walking behind the doctor’s house first. There were two small bramble patches but they found enough to cover the bottom of their baskets. The next house was the police inspector’s house where they found many more berries. The farmer’s house at the end of the side road was next. It was rough and had many small bushes behind it but no blackberries. The last two houses lay on the other side of Tuft’s Lane. By this time they had enough berries they wouldn’t have to worry about being seen, it was clear what they were doing.
That was fortunate, for as soon as they got close to the first house a voice said “Hello. What are you two doing?”
“Oh, hello,” said Nigel. “We’re looking for blackberries. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. There are still quite a lot. We picked all we need earlier this month. I’m Mrs. Sylvester. Do you live around here? I haven’t seen you before.”
“No, I live in Mansworth and Bob lives on the other side. I’m Nigel.”
“The berries are for your mother’s?” she asked.
“We, err, sell them,” said Nigel, not wanting to explain that his mother was dead. “To the shopkeepers.”
“I see. Next year I might buy them, it’s a prickly job. I like blackberry jam and pies but I don’t like picking them. You’ll be in school soon, won’t you. Secondary school?”
“I’m going to the grammar school,” said Bob.
“Oh, good. I used to teach in the High School for Girls at Basingstoke. My husband taught in the grammar school. Our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Peansbury, they live next door taught in the same schools. We’re all retired now and glad to be away from Basingstoke. I’m sure they’ll bomb the railway. It’s the main line between London and Southampton.”