ter the exclusive story," she said,
transferring her smile to Larry now. "It will be what you call a--a
scoop. Isn't that it?"

"That's it."

She caught her father's acquiescing nod. "Then here's your scoop, Mr.
Hunter. We leave to-night."

To-night! This was indeed a scoop! If he hurried, he could catch the
late afternoon editions with it.

"I--I certainly thank you, Miss Stevens!" he exclaimed. "That'll make
the front page!"

As he grasped the door-knob, he added, turning to her father:

"And I want to thank you too, Professor--and wish you good luck!"

Then, with a hasty handshake, and a last smile of gratitude for Diane,
he flung open the door and departed, unconscious that two young blue
eyes followed his broad shoulders wistfully till they disappeared from
view.

* * * * *

But Larry was unaware that he had made a favorable impression on
Diane. He felt it was the reverse. As he headed toward the subway,
that vivid blond goddess of the chase was uppermost in his thoughts.

Soon she'd be off in the _Nereid_, bound for the mysterious regions
under the Sargasso Sea, while in a few moments he'd be in the subway,
bound under the prosaic East River for New York.

No--damned if he would!

Suddenly, with a wild inspiration, the young reporter altered his
course, dove into the nearest phone booth and got his city editor on
the wire.

Scoop? This was just the first installment. He'd get a scoop that
would fill a book!

And his city editor tacitly O. K.'d the idea.

With the result that when the _Nereid_ drew away from her wharf that
night, on the start of her unparalleled voyage, Larry Hunter was a
stowaway.

* * * * *

The place where he had succeeded in secreting himself was a small
storeroom far aft, on one of the lower decks. There he huddled in the
darkness, while the slow hours wore away, hearing only the low hum of
the craft's vacuo-turbine and the flux of water running through her.

From the way she rolled and pitched, he judged she was still
proceeding along on the surface.

Having eaten before he came aboard, he felt no hunger, but the close
air and the dark quarters brought drowsiness. He slept.

When he awoke it was still dark, of course, but a glance at his
luminous wrist-watch told him it was morning now. And the fact that
the rolling and pitching had ceased made him believe they were now
running submerged.

The urge for