Telepathic Pick-up by Jr. Samuel M. Sargent Page A

recovered himself with a start, motioned me to a chair, and turned to the huge mahogany table. He bent over a large, box-like cabinet of dark wood, like and yet unlike the ordinary radio set. He tinkered for a few minutes with the knobs and dials. Then he faced me again. 
    "This is the invention," he said. "Remember, the last time I saw you I told you I was working on a super-radio? This is it, a telepathy radio. I have succeeded in trapping those elusive emanations — thought-waves. I won't bore you with any explanation of the inner workings of the machine. It is enough that I went to the radio and the seismograph to produce it. I called you so that I could give you a demonstration, as I promised. You are the first person to whom I have shown it. Of course, I have given it a number of tests. It seems to be a success." 
    His eyes had lighted with ardor, and his voice had risen to an unusual pitch. But almost simultaneously this enthusiasm waned, and his face became very grave. 
    "You know, Brant," he said slowly. "I have never given up hope of finding Tom. I believe he is still living. I am sure of it. I want to find him. That was the incentive for this invention. I can locate him with this apparatus. That is what I am going to try to do tonight. If he lives, his mind will speak through this loud speaker. You understand the radio. Well, this machine is similar. It must be tuned into the thought-wave length of the man you wish to reach. But the machine must broadcast to receive, that is, the tuning consists of the broad casting of a key thought. If you were seeking a murderer: you would broad cast some thought concerning the crime, where upon the receiving section of the machine would draw in every unspoken reflection on it, and convert each into words. If your key thought were something known to many, perhaps published in the papers, the machine would utter a jumble of tones and voices, blurred by one another. It would be a Babel, so many thoughts, each from a different head. But then the operator would continue his broadcasting, thinking into the machine. With these pseudo-receiving phones, varying reflections on the crime, gradually leading to some clue, some phase known only to the police and the criminal. The million voices would instantly dwindle to a dozen or so, whereupon it would be easy to vary the wave-length a millionth part of a hairsbreadth, and so bring in the felon's thoughts, alone and clear. You may see then that I have a very dangerous contraption here, the more so since the mind is unaware that it is being tapped. I could accomplish great evil or great good with it. But, as I said before, I made it only that I might find Tom, and now I shall make the attempt. There is a key thought that only he can respond to, an incident of our boy hood known, I believe, only to us." 
    He seated himself at the apparatus and adjusted the head-phones. He became intent, lapsing into a deep study. I sat silent, tense with curiosity and awe. There was a long stillness, broken only by the ticking of the hall clock. The methodical sound of its mechanism so frayed my nerves that I got up, and stopped it. Then I tiptoed back to my seat. Dr. Spaulding had not noticed my move. 
    Presently, with an abruptness that made me start, the loud speaker began to utter sounds. The doctor removed his headpiece, and we leaned forward tautly. The sounds were unintelligible at first. Then they became clear. 
    "It's Tom," murmured the doctor, as he recognized the voice, and he looked happy for the first time in years. 
    "Dawn is coming," said the machine. "The first hint of light. Oh God!" 
    There came a confusion of sounds, a jumble of Incoherent words, then clearly: 
    "Here they come. I see the guards and the priest. Oh God! They are coming! They are coming! 
    "They walk so slowly, so solemnly. The guards and the priest. He is in his robe. I see his crucifix. It is swaying on its chain as he walks. The heels are beating so regularly. So