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intense curiosity cross Isaac Bell’s face. “What else?”
    “Clyde Lynds is an honors graduate of the Polytechnic Institute.”
    “Like they told you.”
    “But they didn’t tell me he’s taken it on the lam.”
    “Who’s chasing him?”
    “The Imperial German Army issued an arrest warrant for desertion—that makes no sense at all. The kid’s no soldier.”
    “Maybe that’s why he deserted.”
    Bell nodded. “But he grew up in the United States, and he’s been studying in Austria. You’d think he wasn’t subject to the German draft.”
    “Maybe they drafted him anyway and he didn’t show up.”
    “Art speaks fluent German, and he always chooses his words precisely. He writes ‘desertion.’ Meaning Clyde Lynds was already in the Army—come on, let’s go.”
    “Where?”
    “I’m going to ask Beiderbecke why a munitions outfit is trying to steal his gramophone.”
    As Bell yanked open the door, a page boy came along banging a Chinese gong.
    “There goes the dressing gong. You don’t have time. The captain’s tying your knot in half an hour.”
    “And I’m going to keep asking until he gives me an answer.”
    “But your wedding—”
    Bell was already out the door. “When we get up there, peel Lynds away from Beiderbecke so I can talk to the Professor alone.”
    Dozens of guests had arrived early in the First Class saloon lounge, the men in white tie, the ladies in gowns, and all wearing the tentatively relieved expressions of people whose seasickness was fading into memory. As Clyde Lynds put it when Bell and Archie approached him and Beiderbecke, “Getting over seasickness is like being let out of jail.”
    Archie took Lynds’s elbow. “You must tell me about your jail experiences.”
    Bell steered Beiderbecke into the small bar at the front end of the lounge. “I’ve got a case of groom’s jumps. I hope you’ll join me in a drink?”
    “I am not quite over my seasickness.”
    “A ‘stabilizer’ for the gentleman,” Bell told the barman. “A dash and a splash for me, please.” “The stabilizer is half brandy, half port,” he explained to Beiderbecke.
    Beiderbecke shuddered.
    “Trust me, it works.”
    “It is gracious of you to invite us to your wedding.” The Viennese professor flourished his invitation, a thick sheet of parchment paper that had been embossed in Mauretania ’s print shop, and marveled, “With this document in hand, barriers between Second and First Class tumbled like the walls of Jericho. Young Clyde slept with his under his pillow, lest villains steal it.”
    Bell raised his whiskey and soda to the Viennese. “Continued smoother sailing.”
    “And to your bride’s happiness.”
    Beiderbecke sipped doubtfully and looked surprised. “The effect is immediate.”
    “I told you you can trust me,” said Bell. “Now, can you tell me what exactly does an electro-acoustic scientist do?”
    Franz Beiderbecke looked guilelessly at the tall detective. “I experiment how sounds might be recorded faithfully by employing electricity instead of mechanical means.”
    “Can that be done?”
    “That is my hope. In theory, it is a simple matter of amplifying and regenerating weak electrical signals. Though the actual doing of it is not so simple. But wait—” He blinked, perplexedly. “Wait! How do you know that? I did not discuss my field with you.”
    “I was curious,” said Bell. “I marconigraphed a colleague in Berlin, who informed me that you are a famous scientist in the field of electro-acoustics.”
    “Marconigrams are dear. You went to considerable expense to inquire about me.”
    “I don’t often meet inventors of so-called secret inventions.”
    “Can you blame my protégé for being cautious?”
    “I blame Clyde for risking your lives,” Bell said bluntly. “He may be smart, but he’s not smart enough to distinguish friend from foe. You know that I won’t betray you to the people I stopped from kidnapping you.”
    Beiderbecke touched