“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.”
Chapter 47
Irene was in the tearoom, positioned behind a massive potted palm, when Claudia arrived at precisely three fifteen just as the concierge, Mr. Fontaine, had predicted.
The waiter seated Claudia in a corner behind another potted palm. As soon as the first cup of tea had been poured, she took her notebook and a pencil out of her handbag. She opened the notebook and bent over it industriously.
Irene rose and moved as unobtrusively as possible around the room until she could approach Claudia from behind.
“Hello,” she said, trying for a warm, cheery tone. She glanced at a page of Claudia’s notes. “I see you know shorthand. I hadn’t realized that you trained as a secretary.”
Claudia jerked violently and looked up with an expression of near panic.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. Her fear metamorphosed into irritation. She closed the notebook with a sharp snap. “What do you want?”
“Just a short chat. May I sit down?”
She seated herself quickly before Claudia could decide how to handle the situation.
Claudia picked up her teacup. “Mr. Ogden said you got fired from your job at Whispers.”
“Good news travels fast.”
“If you’re no longer a reporter, why should I talk to you?”
“Because I plan to get my job back. To do that I need a scoop.”
“If you think I’m going to help you pin Gloria Maitland’s death on Nick Tremayne, you’re crazy. If anything happens to Tremayne, I’m the one who will be unemployed.”
“Look, you told me from the start that Tremayne’s alibi for the Maitland death was solid. I didn’t believe you at first but I do now.”
Claudia looked wary. “Is that so?”
“I’m no longer trying to prove that Tremayne killed anyone. But I would like to know more about Daisy Jennings.”
“I can’t help you. I never met the woman. According to the local paper, you found the body.”