Jonathan ignored the soto-voice remark. "Daisy," he intoned, "I am sorry but I could not love thee half so much loved I not logic more. And you, dear lady, are making a complete mish-mash, which is not to exclude a total hash, of these proceedings."

"Jon - a - thon ..." I interrupted.

"No!" he banged the gavel again. Not loudly but the sound seemed to echo. "We have here a situation not only tragic but dangerous and you are tripping blithely from one half-baked assumption to another ..." Steven opened his mouth to say something but Jonathan merely tapped the gavel again. "No. We are going to proceed, for the rest of this meeting, in an orderly manner - from fact to, for a change, fact! Now ..."

Jonathan, most definitely, had the floor.

He sent an authoritative glance around the room, then picked up the bug that Mangan had left on the deck. "This," he informed us, "is a fact! The recorder may be a fact - for the moment, it is a supposition - a strong one, true, but a supposition. However, before this business goes any further, I, for one, would like some proof, aside from her own unsupported statement, that Mrs. Arriola is actually capable of picking up signals from this transmitter."

"But the tape ..." I protested. "The voices ..."

Jonathan waved this away. "These are all," he stated, "subjective evidence. What we need is proof - hard, objective facts!"

"Well," I flared, "what the devil do you want? Somebody to put their ear in her mouth and listen?"

Jonathan leveled the gavel at me. "I propose a test. A proper test. I," he explained, "shall go to an adjoining shop - with the transmitter. One of you people here ..." he looked around the room, then beckoned to Mr. McFarland, the elder of the two security guards, "... will compose a message. No, write it down, please, then give it to me. I will very quietly whisper that message into this transmitter and Mrs. Arriola will tell you what - if anything - she hears. And that, Daisy," he glared at me, "will be a Test." His glare swept slowly around the room forbidding dissent, his gaze finally coming to rest on Oliver.

"Er, all in favor say 'Aye'," Oliver stammered.

Several people in the room mechanically responded with "Aye!"

"Very well." Jonathan wheeled slowly across the room to the door, several of those present having to shift their chairs to permit him exit. He stopped in the doorway, "Er, Mr. Mangan, I assume this thing is - turned on?"

Mangan joined him to check the transmitter, then opened the door to the courtyard for Jonathan and closed it behind him. A babble of talk broke out but I quieted it and said: "Okay, Mr. McFarland, will you write down the message?"

Looking as though security work had not prepared him for anything quite like this, the elder security guard extracted a worn envelope from his hip pocket, borrowed Oliver's pen and scribbled a few words. "Ah ... should I make two copies, Ma'm?" he asked me.

"Fine."

Mr. McFarland tore the envelope in half, scribbled again, then had his partner initial both halves. Pocketing one half, he sent the younger man to take the message to Jonathan, then assumed an authoritative stance by the exterior door.

Lucy, detaching herself from Oliver, briefed her grandmother in whispered Spanish as to what was required. The old woman lifted her eyebrows, shrugged and, almost visibly, began listening.

After a long moment, she grimaced, monkey-faced and said, "You tell him talk louder."

The younger guard, having returned, stepped back out the door to relay the message.

She cocked her head and frowned. "Tell him say it again?"

People were being politely quiet but somebody coughed and I could feel a growing skepticism. Damn, maybe we should have tried a message in Spanish?

"He makes no sense," the old woman complained. "Is something about ... God's hat, it is spoiled ... no lo entiendo."

Mrs. Balrymple complained: "Mrs. Carson, this is obviously ..."

"Please ..." Lucy grasped the old woman's hand. "Just tell us, what 'words' does he say?"

Mrs. Arriola burst out angrily: "'What hat God rot!' You tell him talk better sense!"

Somebody - Ginger, I thought it was - burst into a hysterical giggle. But the big security guard nodded and stepped forward, extracting the second half of the torn envelope from his pocket. "That's close enough," he said. "What I wrote was 'What hath God wrought'. I suppose it wasn't very original," he added apologetically, "but it was all I could think of."

Since Jonathan, the most authoritative figure of the group, was no longer in the room, the guard looked uncertain for a moment, then handed his half of the envelope to Oliver.

Oliver read aloud, as though announcing the results of an election, "'What hath God wrought?'" ... and banged the gavel.

Lucy, tears of relief running down her cheeks, was hugging Mrs. Arriola. I felt a bit tearful myself. Miss Endicott broke into a patter of applause. A moment late, Jonathan reappeared, escorted by the younger guard. His frog-faced frown was still in place. "I gather that the message was received?"

"Got it just fine, sir," the younger security guard reported.

Jonathan rolled himself back to stage center and waited until he had everybody's attention. "This is all very well, thus far," he stated. "Now I propose a test over a longer distance."

"What?" I said. "Again?"

He nodded sternly. "Again. Your assumptions require ..."

I sighed. "Okay but, this time, could somebody please at least broadcast in Spanish?"

Jonathan's mouth twitched. "Reasonable," he agreed. Across the crowd, he singled out his nephew. "David, I surmise from your reported collegiate curriculum that you have a moderate acquaintance with the language of Cervantes ... Miss Endicott, may I request a small imposition?"

The small, gray-haired proprietress of the Toy Box jumped as if Jonathan had suddenly named her as a murderess. "Why, why of course, certainly!"

"In your shop, I believe you have a set of toys called a Junior Space Ranger Intergalactic Communicator kit, have you not?"

She blinked, then replied with a slow "No, that was several years ago ... I do have, Mr. Bell," she added brightly, "a set of Star Wars Space Radios. Would they do?"

Jonathan closed his eyes for a moment before replying: "Yes, thank you. Would you please go and get a set for us?"

Looking as though she expected to fall down a rabbit hole at any moment, Miss Endicott obeyed.

While waiting, Jonathan conferred with his nephew - offering hushed instructions.

When she returned with the requested brightly packaged box, Jonathan - after some difficulty with the plastic wrapping - handed one of the miniature walkie-talkies to David and set the other on Oliver's desk. "David, I would like you and Charlie," he motioned the old man forward, "to wander about the Compound grounds and in and out of the various buildings. Charlie, do you have your master keys?"

Charlie nodded.

"David," Jonathan proceeded with his instructions, "every few minutes, you will speak softly into that, er, bug, in Spanish, stating your location. Then wait a moment, during which Mrs. Arriola will or will not relay that information to us. After she has had time to repeat your message, Charlie will transmit the same information, in normal English, into the, uh, Space Radio for the benefit of us normal mortals. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," said Charlie. David appeared to be valiantly suppressing a desire to answer 'Right, Chief', but confined himself to a nod.

While Jonathan was directing his investigation, Oliver had picked up the second unit and was examining it carefully. "It won't work," Oliver commented bluntly.

"That result has crossed my mind," Jonathan responded, "but would you mind enlightening us why you are so certain?"

"No batteries," Oliver waved the Space Radio.

"Oh! I forgot!" Miss Endicott produced the required items from her jacket pockets. "You see, they're sold separately ..."

"Humph!" Jonathan snorted. "Yes, thank you."

The batteries inserted, David and Charlie departed.

The rest of us - some whispering and some not - spent the next few minutes mostly staring at Mrs. Arriola ... who seemed not to notice at all.

Suddenly, the old woman gave a little jump, nodded and said aloud: "Buenos noches!", then added after a moment, "Bien! Y usted?"

A look of immense disgust crossed Jonathan's face but it soon appeared that David had, after all, remembered his instructions. The old woman nodded again to the invisible presence and announced: "He say tell you they are at Daisy's store."

The Star Wars Radio on Oliver's desk said nothing. After a pause, Jonathan picked it up and shook it. It popped and crackled, then Charlie Ruggles' voice came, metallic and distorted: "... you there? Hello?"

Jonathan replied: "Yes? Hello?"

"We're at Miz Carson's place now."

"Thank you. We hear you quite well. Go further away, please."

... And so it went for the next twenty minutes, with Mrs. Arriola batting 100% as David and Charlie randomly moved around the Compound, inside and out. At many locations - notably those which were furthest away - the Star Wars Radios were more static than voice but Mrs. Arriola was doing fine.

When they transmitted from outside the maintenance room at the west end, Mrs. Arriola reported correctly, then added "Getting faint now. You tell them talk louder."

"... back gate ..." the transmission affirmed.

A moment later, Mrs. Arriola nodded approval. "Si! Is better. Toy Box, outside, they say. Good and loud."

". . side ... oy Box ..." the radio crackled.

Jonathan lifted the unit from the desk and said loudly and reprovingly: "Do not raise your voice. Speak in a normal tone. This is a test of range!"

"... hear ... badly. Ain't ... louder than ... You'll . . speak up!"

"May I offer a suggestion?" Mr. Mangan broke in.

"Well, you are the expert here," Jonathan admitted grudgingly.

"I'd like to suggest a modification of the experiment," Mr. Mangan explained. "May I?" he held his hand out for the radio.

Jonathan surrendered the elaborate plastic contrivance. Mr. Mangan issued instructions to the pair, ordering them to go inside one of the shops and insert the two leads from the 'bug' into a power outlet. "The wiring," he explained to us, "acts as an antenna as well as a power source. The proper conditions for the experiment," he charged, "should duplicate the original conditions as closely as possible."

"... copy . . ," the radio crackled, "... comply."

Nothing else was said for a few moments, then "They not hear you well," Mrs. Arriola reported. "I hear them just fine. Is funny though! I hear them loud but not good! No lo comprendo!"

"What's funny?" Lucy asked.

The old woman wrinkled her nose, searching for words. "The voice, it has 'un eco'."

"...peat what you ..." the toy radio crackled again

Mr. Mangan was instantly alert. "What do you mean, an echo?"

Lucy and Mrs. Arriola conferred in whispered Spanish. "She means an echo," Lucy reported.

Mr. Mangan took the radio from Jonathan, "Mr. Ruggles, let me talk to David ... David, we're getting an echo on this end. You two may be in the vicinity of one of the other transmitter bugs. Look around and see if ... No, never mind. Wait there, I'll join you. Do you copy?"

"... loud and clear ..."

Mr. Mangan replied slowly and distinctly: "Just wait. I'll be right there." Then he turned to Lucy and Mrs. Arriola. "Mrs. Arriola, I want you to tell us when the echo gets louder and when it gets softer, okay?"

Mrs. Arriola's eyebrows nearly reached her hairline but she nodded agreement. "Hokay."

"Mr. McFarland, would you join me?" Mr. Mangan made his exit with the security guard in tow.

Moments later, "Is louder," Mrs. Arriola spoke. Lucy relayed the message into the Star Wars Radio.

"Is not so loud."

Lucy began: "No, go back ... No, wait, just a minute." She released the transmit button and began hasty instructions to her grandmother, finishing with "Here, you tell him." She handed the toy radio to her grandmother.

"Warmer ... is warmer ..." Mrs. Arriola spoke to the toy radio.

"Daisy," Oliver whispered harshly, "where are they?"

"... not so loud, cooler, ..."

"Shut up, Oliver!" Lucy hissed back.

"... bien, is warmer ..."

The tension was growing unbearable.

"... side ... kiln yar ..." the radio responded.

Steven spang up violently, overturning his chair. "Just a damn minute!" he shouted. "What in hell is this? You trying to tell me some damn turkey's been bugging my kiln?"

I let out a long, uneven breath that could have been heard all over the room.

Jonathan, in the barest of whispers, said: "Steven . . Sit . . Down!"

The radio burst into indistinguishable static, ". . inside now ... hit my knee on a table ..."

Mrs. Arriola waved her hand enthusiastically. "Esta caliente! Caliente!"

Then the lights went out!