three hours ago—no, before that, any time after sunrise!"
"If they are still sending!" said the woman.
"They must be sending," cried McKinnon, as he bent over his mysterious instruments. "They must be, or the Princeton would never have been calling them the way she was."
"Then I must help you in some way!"
"No, you must rest. This is work I have to do alone. You are worn out; you must have rest. You must sleep if you can."
"And you?" she asked.
"Oh, I'll be working this out. There'll be no sleeping in this place, you know, once I start to send!"
"But I meant that you need rest," she explained.
He could even laugh now, although his laughter was both brief and preoccupied.
"Rest!" he cried. "I'm good for two days without a drop of it, once I've got things going the way I'm trying to make them go."
She watched the white electric light of the drop-globe pour down on his bent and constantly shifting head. She could see the little black stain of dried blood on his temple. She could also see the sweat running down the side of his face, between his cheek-bone and his ear. For some inexplicable reason, she gave a
