I told him briefly I might be able to communicate with Arturo. Oh, I could not blame him for his prompt, vigorous questions! And his command: “Jeff, you come up here to me, at once--I want to know what you mean by that!” I could see Polly restraining him. “No,” I said. “I cannot.” I shut him off finally. Then I called my office; told them brusquely that if I did not report within a week they could consider my post vacant; to fill it as they wished, and to notify Dr. Plantet what they had done. And then I boarded a vacuum cylinder in the tube for mid-Long Island, to the field where aëros could be engaged. * * * * * “I want a single-seater Wasp.” The checker looked me over. “For how long?” I had not thought of that. “Why--for about a week, I guess.” “Guess? Don’t you know? Where’s your license?” “You think I’m a grounder? Here you are.” I showed him my flying license; and my name on my arm, and I wrote my signature to verify it. “Wait,” he said. “I’ll confirm that.” He put my signature into the telautograph on his desk; it clicked off into the air. My heart leaped. Had Dr. Plantet sent out a call to apprehend me? Would he dare? “What’s that for?” I demanded. “General orders. We’re taking no chances to-night. You may be who you say you are--I’m no expert at signatures.” The Washington Archives verified me, and the release came back in a moment. I breathed easier. “Right,” said the checker. “They passed you. Where are you going?” “None of your business,” I retorted. “Is it?” He grinned. “Well, I guess it isn’t. Not if you deposit the total value.” I gave him my draft to cover the cost of the plane. He sent it off to be certified and in a moment had it back. Within half an hour I was in the air, flying west by south. I could do a fair three hundred in this machine. Noon of the next day found me over the Pacific. I stopped at Guadalupe Island off the coast of Lower California, to refuel and take on my final provisions. And upon sudden impulse I called Polly. The mirror presently showed me her intent little face. I was relieved to see that the room behind her was empty. “This is Jeff.” Her face brightened. Dear little Polly! I felt like my old self now--no longer estranged. “Yes, Jeff.” She did not question; she sat there, regarding me gravely, waiting. “Where is your father?” “Gone to Washington, Jeff. Early this morning.” I had had no news, save the fragments the mechanics were gossiping over, here at the Guadalupe station. “The tides are lower, Polly?” “Yes. Two fathoms more--just over-night. It’s come, Jeff.” I swore her then to secrecy. “I’m at Guadalupe Island, Polly. I’m going well, you can guess where. I can’t talk plainly--too easy for any eavesdropper. Polly, listen, it’s about Arturo, I’ve had--I think I’ve had a message from him--” “Oh!” Her face went very grave; but her eyes were shining, “Father said last night--”