“Yes, I know. But he’s in the air tonight. How can I get him?” Her smile was whimsical. “When I asked for a tracer, the Timer over there told me to get the hell off the air. I guess he thought I wanted to find Jim just to tell him I loved him.” Her image blurred. The Mid-Atlantic Timer’s voice broke in. “Fifteen seconds. Last call.” “I’ll get Jim,” I said hastily. “Bring him with me. Soon as we can get there.” “Yes. We’re waiting for you. And Len, you won’t need to sleep first. You can sleep after you get here. And tell Jim—” A click silenced her. The screen went dark. What could she want of me? It was pleasant to have seen and heard from her, this granddaughter of old Dr. Weatherby. In the stress of getting my appointment and continuous examinations and tests between voyages, I had not seen Alice since leaving the Equatorial Run. Nor Jim Dunkirk either. I went after him now. The tracers could not rebuff me as they did Alice. They found him at last—at 120°E., 85°N. He was coming up over the Pole, and down Baffin Bay making for New York. His jolly face, with its ever present grin and the shock of fiery red hair above it, glowed on my screen. “Well, Len, say, it’s great to see you!” “Alice just called me—Alice Weatherby. Doc wants us both—you and me—something important. Wants to see us. You off at New York?” “You bet,” he grinned. “Had a chase down through Tibet; every cursed murderer thinks the grand idea is for him to swoop it for Lhasa and parts unknown. I have one here, now. When I get him in his airy cage I’m off duty for a while. Alice wants us?” “Yes. I don’t know what for. She didn’t have a chance to—” “Fifteen seconds. Last call.” “The infernal bedamned it is!” came Jim’s belligerent voice. “Last call, Liner 40 N—limit ninety seconds by general orders.” The Timer was imperturbably impersonal. But not Jimmy Dunkirk. “You cut me off,” he roared. “I’ll have the General Inspector tell you who you are in thirty seconds. This is Chief Dunkirk, Patrol Liner A 22, Anglo-Detective Division. I’ve got a murderer here—understand? A murderer! Important official business.” With the Timer cowed, Jimmy would have talked all night. But I was on duty. “Good,” I said. “I’ll call you at your office after you get in.” “Old Weatherby wants us?” “Yes. Off, Jim.” * * * * * It was well toward dawn when I hooked up with him; together we flew up the river, where on the Tappan Zee, at the northern borders of the city, Dr. Weatherby had his home. Alice was under the landing stage when we descended in the hand lift. “Len, Jim, I’m glad to see you.” She gave each of us one of her cool white hands. “Grandfather is waiting to—Jim, let go of my hand; you’re squeezing my fingers. That hurts!” He flung it away. He had always done that with Alice, to devil her. “Next time,” she said soberly, “you bow to me. That’s all.” He laughed gleefully. “Right. Sure, that’s safer when you look so pretty.”