r it with as many joints as a centipede), the story
of her people.

They had lived in a country of steaming mist, when the world was very
young. They had been forced into the sea to obtain food, and after
many generations they had gone back to the sea as man once emerged
from it. They had grown webs on their hands and feet, and they
breathed oxygen dissolved in water, as fishes do, instead of taking it
from the atmosphere. And under the mighty Atlantic, somewhere, were
their villages.

The girl had pictured all these things for us, and then--nearly a year
ago, now--she had pleaded with us to let her return to her people. And
so we had put her back into the sea, and she had bade us farewell. But
just before she disappeared, she had done a strange thing.

* * * * *

She had pointed, under the water, out towards the depth, and then,
with a broad, sweeping motion of her arm, she had indicated the shore,
as though to promise, it seemed to me, that she intended to return.

And now, Mercer said, we might see her again! How? Mercer,
conservative and scientific, was not the man to make rash promises.
But how...?

The best way to solve the riddle was to reach Mercer, and I broke the
speed laws of five states three days running.

I did not even stop at my own little shack. It was only four miles
from there to the huge, rather neglected estate, built in boom times
by some newly-rich promoter, and dubbed by Mercer "The Monstrosity."

Hardly bothering to slow down, I turned off the concrete onto the
long, weed-grown gravel drive, and shot between the two massive,
stuccoed pillars that guarded the drive. Their corroded bronze plates,
bearing the original title of the estate, "The Billows," were a
promise that my long, hard drive was nearly at an end.

* * * * *

As soon as the huge, rambling structure was fairly in sight, I pressed
the flat of my hand on the horn button. By the time I came to a
locked-wheel halt, with the gravel rattling on my fenders, Mercer was
there to greet me.

"It's ten o'clock," he grinned as he shook hands. "I'd set noon as the
hour of your arrival. You certainly must have made time, Taylor!"

"I did!" I nodded rather grimly, recalling one or two narrow squeaks.
"But who wouldn't, with a wire like this?" I produced the crumpled
telegram rather dramatically. "You've got a lot to explain."

"I know it." Mercer was quite serious now. "C