“DEAR ORRINGTON:--The man who came out of Dr. Heidenmuller’s locked room is not the man of your picture. Both are tall and dark, but there the resemblance ends. No allowance for the changes of a year could make them the same. I am sorry that the clue from which you hoped so much should have ended in a _cul de sac_. I see by the papers that the possessor of this dread power has not ceased his awful work. The country here is in a state of wild excitement and fear over the sinking of the Japanese battleship. I sincerely trust that you may soon be successful in your quest. “Yours fraternally, “EDGAR HAMERLY.” “I knew it,” said Dorothy, with conviction. “I’ve told you he wasn’t ‘the man,’ from the very first.” “Well,” ejaculated Tom, stirring his chocolate viciously, “I wish to blazes he was, or at least that we could find out who it is, and make him understand that he’s a blamed fool.” Drinking his chocolate, Tom rose with the remark, “Now I’m going to find out whether the Denckel apparatus has recorded anything new during the night.” A few minutes later he returned, with a negative shake of his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Let’s get to work.” That day passed as had the preceding afternoon and evening. Twelve times an hour I sent forth the call. As each hour struck, Tom changed the strength of the wave. The morning passed, the long afternoon waned, and the early night came on. Monotonously, as I pressed the key, my thoughts would range outward into space, peering, searching, striving to find some way to reach the man. My only occupation was the watching of the clock, for Tom and Dorothy were working hard in the next room on plans for altering the wave-measuring machine in such a way as to make it even more effective. Directly beneath the clock on the wall, a window looked out to sea. As the evening wore on towards night, a storm rose, and the fierce wind of late autumn drove the breakers with a resounding roar on the long beach. I marked the hour, as the storm reached its height,--9.05. I sent my message, 9.10. I sent it again, and as I raised my eyes from my key I looked at the window. There, pressed against the pane, was the face of a man we had long sought. I leaped to my feet. “There’s Regnier!” I cried, pointing at the window. The face disappeared as I spoke, and Tom and Dorothy, springing from their chairs, looked out through the panes at the storm. In the hush of the night the sound of breakers bore in on us insistently. “Wild as a loon,” said Tom, shaking his head mournfully in my direction. “Where was he?” asked Dorothy. “Right outside that window!” I shouted. “Come, we must find him.” We all started for the outer air, but before we could leave the room, the door opened and Richard Regnier entered. Mental trouble showed in his unquiet look and in his hesitating hand. “Why, Dick,” began Tom, but Dorothy, with an emphatic gesture, commanded silence.