Free Death on the Lizard by Robin Paige Page B

Lonsdale’s the previous week and had immediately hit it off, for she was not only exceptionally beautiful, but interested in his work and eager for his attention, a combination which never failed to excite Marconi. By the end of the evening, she was calling him “Marky” and he was calling her “Paulie,” and he had been allowed to see her home. After another dinner together, he had asked her to attend his lecture at the Royal Institution and invited her to visit the Poldhu station with him. It would be an opportunity for the two of them to get better acquainted, he said, and she had agreed with a flattering enthusiasm.
    But the news of Daniel Gerard’s death had changed everything. Instead of being excited about tonight’s lecture and the prospect of a new and stimulating love affair, Marconi was anxious and depressed. He and Daniel had been colleagues since Marconi arrived in England in ’96, and Marconi had been closer to him than to anyone else. Daniel had been there when Marconi demonstrated his apparatus to the Post Office and to the War Office in ’97. He’d been Marconi’s right-hand man on Salisbury Plain, and at the Bristol Channel trials, and on board the Carlo Alberto . He had helped to design the “jigger” which had earned Marconi his famous “four-seven” patent, and the new tuner—the device which would revolutionize wireless—was really his idea.
    As head of the company, Marconi took (quite naturally, he thought) the credit for the designs and achievements of the men who worked under him. But even though he would never say so publicly, he had to admit to himself that Gerard had been his match—oh, more than his match. Marconi knew himself to be a competent inventor, tireless and extraordinarily patient when it came to details, but it was Gerard who had a truly inventive imagination, Gerard who could see what was needed and make it happen, Gerard who could take the crudest instrument and make it sing and dance and click its heels. Now Gerard was dead, and Marconi was in despair. He felt as if both his arms had been chopped off. But the show had to go on. Customers, investors, other scientists, and the public at large could not be allowed to suspect that there were any problems, or that the company might not be able to deliver what it promised.
    So Marconi put aside his fears, assumed a confident bearing, and stepped through the curtains and onto the lecture platform. Seeing that the Royal Institution’s lecture hall was full and noticing the French investors and the science writer from The Times, he felt somewhat better. Seeing Miss Chase, splendid in a garnet evening suit with an extravagant sweep of garnet ostrich feathers on her hat, a matching boa around her neck, and a delicious smile on her pouty lips, he felt even better. He made a modest bow as Professor Werthen completed the generous introduction, stepped to the podium, and signaled for the curtain, which opened to reveal his assistant, Arthur Blok, who was managing the demonstration.
    Marconi was lecturing tonight on the important topic “Resonance and Tuning in Wireless Telegraphy.” Everyone knew that the ability to tune a telegraphic receiver to a specific wavelength was the most urgent technical challenge facing wireless science. As long as the signal could be picked up by anyone with a receiver, wireless offered no privacy or confidentiality. This meant that the world’s military and commercial enterprises, fearing that their enemies and rivals would eavesdrop on their secret communications, were reluctant to trade the privacy of cable for the convenience and low cost of wireless. And even if it were not for eavesdroppers, there was the problem of interference. As long as there were only a few stations owned and operated by Marconi, there was little chance that their signals would interfere. But wireless stations and wireless systems were proliferating, and