"I've changed my mind." Looking at her, at her blue, unsympathetic eyes, Fallon wondered if he really had. Perhaps the stunning shock of all that had happened had unsettled him.

Joan put both hands on his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "What kind of a man are you, Webb Fallon?"

"God knows," he said. "Where do you keep your boat, Bjarnsson?"

"In a private steel-and-concrete building at Wilmington. Some of the improvements are of interest to certain people. I keep them locked safely away. Or so I thought."

Fallon rose stiffly. "Kashimo didn't come in a car, that's certain. He'd have been arrested on sight. Any place for a plane to land near here?"

The explorer shook his head. "Unless it could come straight down."

Fallon snapped his finger. "A helicopter! That's it."

He led the way out. They found the 'copter on a small level space beyond the shoulder of the hill. Fallon nodded.

"Ingenious little chaps. The ship's painted like an Army plane. Any pilot would think it was a special job and let it severely alone." He turned abruptly to Joan.

"Take my car," he told her. "Get away from here, fast. Find someone in authority and make him listen—just in case."

She nodded. "Webb, why are you going?"

"Because there isn't time to get anyone else," he told her roughly. "Because there's a story there...."

He stopped, startled at what he had said. "Yes," he said slowly, "a story. My story. Oh hell, why did you have to come along?"

He put his hands suddenly back of her head and tilted her face up, his fingers buried in the warm curls at the base of her neck.

"I was all set," he whispered savagely. "I knew all the answers. And then you showed up. If you hadn't, I'd be half-way to Miami by now. I'd still be sure of myself. I wouldn't be so damned confused, thinking one way and feeling another...."

She kissed him suddenly, warmly. "I'll make somebody listen," she said. "And then I'll wait—and pray."

Then she was gone. In a minute he heard the car start.

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