1:00 a.m.
So Curlie sat there surrounded by wire-wrapped frames , coils , keys , buttons , switches , motors , dry-cells , storage batteries and all the odds and ends which made up the equipment of the most perfect listening-in station in the world . As he sat there with Joe Marion , his pal , by his side , his brow was wrinkled in thought . He was reviewing the events of the previous night . At 1:00 a.m. , the witching hour when the crooked ones , the mean ones , come creeping forth like ghosts to carry on doubtful conversations by radio , a strange thing had happened . A message had gone crashing out through space . Wave lengths 1200 meters long sped it on its way . There was power enough behind it to carry it from pole to pole , but all it had said was : `` A slight breeze from the west . ''