"Trailing is one of the accomplishments that was unfortunately left out of my education. But does a man have to be an Indian to read this correctly?" He was pointing at the ground. The small cleared space was littered with cigarette butts, rolled in brown paper and what had once been a popular brand of tobacco. There were also a number of burned matches. From this patch, screened by some undergrowth, there was a clear unobstructed sight of the late William Flynn's home. Professor Brierly continued: "Here is your timing device, Mr. Hale. This person, presumably one person, showing commendable patience, as evidenced by the number of cigarettes, waited here. A human timing device, but a very accurate one is proved." "But, Professor," protested Jimmy, "that would entail wires, buried wires, perhaps. Such wires would not be readily destroyed. Such--" "Tut, Mr. Hale. You forget that it takes only a fraction of a second for an electric impulse to encircle the earth. We live in modern times. What need for clumsy wires. And yet in a sense you are right. There were buried wires. "John," turning abruptly to his young assistant, "that path leads to a state road. See what is at the end of that road, will you. See if there is any shop or place where there is a public telephone." John Matthews had started along the path when he turned abruptly and came back. "Professor, I'd rather Jimmy went. We'll wait here for him." John looked grim as he said this. He looked meaningly at Jimmy. Professor Brierly laid his tiny hand on the big shoulder, in his eyes an unwonted brightness. The Nordic is not a demonstrative creature, particularly the male creature. "You foolish boy, come on, we'll all go." A garish filling station was diagonally opposite the path. The familiar sign of the bell indicated that a telephone was to be had inside. But the place was still closed. Professor Brierly jotted down the name on the sign. The three men returned to the wrecked house. After a perfunctory look about the scene, Professor Brierly indicated that he was ready to go. On their way to the station he asked Jimmy if he would take him up to see his city editor, Hite. Jimmy, carefully restraining a grin, gravely consented. The man who had driven them from the hangar hearing them discuss their trip to New York, told Professor Brierly that the car, as well as the plane, was at his disposal. They therefore, drove to the city. A quick breakfast at an all night lunch counter, a shave and massage and the old man, apparently as fresh as though he had spent the night in bed, was ready to resume his task. On the short ride to the newspaper office, Professor Brierly's eyes fell on one of Matthews' big hands. It was an angry red and was swollen. There was instant contrition and solicitude. The old man touched the hand gently: "What happened, John?" "Say, Professor, look at Jimmy's eye. Ain't it a peach?" "John, I asked you, what is the matter with your hand?"