He leaned back in his chair and smiled. Though that haunting musical voice stirred him deeply, he had full control of himself now. For an hour he had been preparing mentally what he would say. "Young woman," he said, "or Andromeda, as you choose to call yourself, I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about. Yesterday you made a connection with my instrument and hung up without revealing your image. My name is James C. Starr, and if you wish to converse with me, I suggest you show yourself. Otherwise...." "Wait!" The gayness left the unseen girl's voice. "Wait, don't touch that stud. We failed last night, Jimmy Starr. But we can't fail again tonight. Everything is at stake. Do you understand, everything. The very future of life here on Mars. Jimmy, what do you know about the canals?" "The canals?" He forgot his protestations to consider thoughtfully. "Why nothing much. They're to be opened and filled with water in a year. Everyone knows that. So far the locks have been giving the engineers a little trouble, but...." "Not a little trouble, Jimmy. A whole lot of trouble. At the present time specifications call for a hundred and twelve locks and sub power stations down the length of Canal Grand alone. And there are seven hundred and eight subsidiary canals branching into the main stem. Add to those figures the number of lesser canals branching into the subsidiary canals, the necessary freight and passenger depots, and you can see what a tremendous engineering project it will be." "It can be done," Jimmy said confidently. "It can, yes, if the engineers locate a new deposit of _pxar_, the part organic, part inorganic material that alone will withstand the terrible refraction-rot of the red desert country." Jimmy didn't know what she was driving at, but what she said was true. Refraction-rot, the multiple infra-red light radiations from the scarlet sands of the desert played hob with all kinds of construction work. _Pxar_ alone had the resiliency and the hardness to withstand the terrible disintegration processes of the shifting sands. And there was very little _pxar_ left. The voice continued: "Jimmy, I can't tell you everything yet. But I can tell you this. By joining forces with me, you will be working toward the recovery of your father's lost secret and the identification of the man who murdered him. "Tonight at midnight you will enter the offices of Phobos Enterprises and take from their vault the paper-wrapped box on the third shelf. Good luck, Nebula." * * * * * Phil Hanley, reporter of the _Globe_, let himself into his apartment, strode straight to the liquor cabinet and took a stiff drink. Then he sat down before a table and spread an array of objects before him.