thout
me; sometimes I think my frequent absences are good for the business.
The boys work like the devil to make a fine showing while I'm away.
And Miss Fentress is a perfect gem of a secretary. I had nothing to
worry about there.

"Fine! Will you get my diggings on the phone?" I hurriedly put my few
papers in place, and signed a couple of letters. Then Josef was on the
wire.

"Josef? Pack my bags right away, will you? For Florida. The usual
things.... Yes, right away. I'll be leaving by noon.... Yes, driving
through."

* * * * *

That was that. There were a few more letters to sign, a few hasty
instructions to be given regarding one or two matters that were
hanging fire. Then, on my way to my bachelor apartments, I read the
telegram through again:

THINK IT WORTH WHILE IF YOU FEEL ADVENTUROUS AND HAVE
NOTHING PRESSING TO COME TO THE MONSTROSITY STOP MAKE YOUR
WILL FIRST STOP SHALL LOOK FOR YOU ANY DAY AS I KNOW YOU ARE
ALWAYS LOOKING FOR EXCITEMENT AND NEVER HAVE ANYTHING
IMPORTANT TO DO SO DON'T BOTHER TO WIRE STOP PERHAPS WE
SHALL SEE HER AGAIN

MERCER

I smiled at Mercer's frank opinion of my disposition and my importance
to my business. But I frowned over the admonition to make my will, and
the last telling statement in the wire: "Perhaps we shall see her
again." I knew whom he meant by "her."

Josef had my bags waiting for me. A few hurried instructions, most of
them shouted over my shoulder, and I was purring down the main drag,
my duffel in the rumble, and the roadster headed due south.

"Perhaps we shall see her again." Those words from the telegram kept
coming before my eyes. Mercer knew what he was about, if he wanted my
company, when he put that line in his wire.

* * * * *

I have already told the story of our first meeting with the strange
being from the ocean's depths that, wounded and senseless, had been
flung up on the beach near Warren Mercer's Florida estate. In all the
history of civilization, no stranger bit of flotsam had ever been cast
up by a storm.

Neither of us would ever forget that slim white creature, swathed in
her veil of long, light golden hair, as she crouched on the bottom of
Mercer's swimming pool, and pictured for us, by means of Mercer's
thought-telegraph (my own name for the device; he has a long and
scientific title fo