We directed the Miami authorities that if this message were received, they should notify us by a swaying white searchlight beam from Miami Beach the following night. We would then wait another two nights. Then, the night of August 7, if the beam showed again, swaying, we would know they desired to yield. But if it stood straight up into the sky, motionless, we would understand they still defied us. We made no threats--our deeds, not our words, would speak for us. We dropped the cylinder into the outskirts of Miami. It went down, flaming like a beacon from the blazing gas we had ignited in its top. It fell, as close as I could judge, near the Greater Miami--Fort Lauderdale line. By daylight we hung fifty miles high, waiting. * * * * * I have been told, and I can fairly imagine, the scene at the conference which was held in the Miami War Department during those three following long days with the brief nights between them. At this daylight season there was a freight and passenger air line flying from Miami to the Canaries, with connections at the Canaries for the recently established capitals of Great Britain and France, near the Barbary Coast. Upon one of these liners representatives of all the European governments came hastily to assemble at Miami; from Japan came leaders of the Oriental powers; and from Caracas--greatest capital now of Latin America--came the newly elected President of the Pan American Union. Graff and I, in our devastating swing up through Venezuela late in July, had passed not far west of Caracas; those had been anxious moments for me. I need not picture that grave, solemn conference of the World Powers in Miami that August 6. I understand it lasted without intermission for some thirty-six hours. They had determined to yield. A giant searchlight was erected at Miami Beach. It swayed its answer that the cylinder had been found--that Graff's message was being considered. We saw it. We hung far, inaccessibly far aloft, waiting for the decision. The night of August 7 came. The conference was ending. The definite decision to yield had been reached. From the War Department a telephone was connected with the little house at the beach where the operator was ready to flash the signal. Our War Secretary rose to his feet. "Shall I phone him now, gentlemen?" They say his voice nearly broke. There was a silent assent. From the adjoining room a telephone rang sharply; then another. A confusion in there. Telephones ringing, and the government radio sounding a peremptory incoming call. A confusion, while the War Secretary stood irresolute. Then an Under Secretary burst into the room. "A globe from Space has landed in the Everglades!"