Death on the Lizard Read Free Page A

liners with Marconi equipment operated by Marconi-trained telegraphers from the school at Frinton, in Essex.
    Marconi’s glance at Bradford was an odd mixture of deference and defensiveness. “And not least,” he added, “we have got the Maggie perfected and production geared up to satisfy any demand.”
    â€œMaggie” was the magnetic receiver the Marconi Company had patented the year before, reputedly the best of its kind—although Charles knew that the knotty problem of tuning out interfering signals had yet to be solved.
    â€œI must say, that’s all very impressive,” Charles remarked. “But I have the feeling that it isn’t why I’m here today.”
    â€œI was the one who asked Marconi to invite you, old man,” Bradford said, flicking his cigar into an ash tray. His sidelong glance at Marconi gave Charles to understand that there was some considerable tension between the two of them. Perhaps Bradford was not impressed by the recital of achievements, or he felt that his position as a director gave him the right to be Marconi’s minder. He sipped his brandy. “We’ve encountered some rather serious problems, you see, and I thought of you.”
    Ah, here it is, Charles thought with some resignation: the reason he had been asked to come.
    â€œI doubt that one would call them serious problems,” Marconi began in an offhand tone, but Bradford interrupted.
    â€œThe company has been the victim of several very dirty tricks,” he said vehemently. “And they’ve got to stop before . . . well, they’ve got to stop, that’s all.”
    â€œWhat kind of dirty tricks?” Charles asked. “How long have they been going on?”
    â€œSince before the transatlantic signal was sent,” Bradford said grimly. “Nearly two years ago. The Poldhu aerial came down, and very nearly put an end to everything.”
    â€œIt was blown down in a gale.” Marconi gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Inadequate engineering, nothing more.”
    Bradford put down his brandy glass, now empty. “The guy wires were cut nearly through. Someone wanted to make sure that the experiments would not go forward. And that’s not the whole of it.” He ticked items off on his fingers. “The fire in the generator building at Poldhu, equipment thefts, and outright sabotage. And less than a fortnight ago, the death of one of the Bass Point operators—”
    â€œAn accident,” Marconi said hastily. “It was an accident, I assure you, Sheridan.” Perspiration had broken out on his long upper lip. “The fellow was intoxicated. He fell off a cliff.”
    â€œNo one knows how he went off that cliff,” Bradford said. “He had taken that path hundreds of times, in all weathers. An accident does not seem likely.” His voice grew harsh. “And with Royal visitors coming in just over a fortnight, we simply cannot afford to take any chances. The company’s reputation hangs in the balance.”
    â€œI don’t know,” Marconi said nervously, “that I would put the matter in quite such strong terms, Marsden. It is serious, of course, but—” He broke off and began to pour himself more tea, the cup rattling in the saucer.
    Charles looked from one of them to the other. “Royal visitors?”
    â€œThe Prince and Princess of Wales are to visit the Poldhu station shortly,” Bradford replied. “It was arranged by—”
    â€œI was not consulted,” Marconi said frostily. “If someone had asked me, I should have refused. I do not think it a good plan to invite Prince George at a time when Gerard and I are working on such an important project. I—”
    â€œIt was necessary, ” Bradford put in, with emphasis. “And it was damned difficult to arrange, believe me. All manner of strings had to be pulled. But now it’s settled, and the Prince is