to this experience that he and Olinski took every precaution that nothing should leak out concerning their research in interstellar signaling, which, as far as I could learn, at the time, had entered on the final and exciting stage of their experimental work.Henry's actions indicated that his mind was still working feverishly on this subject; he even raved about it in his sleep, according to his Filipino valet, Niki. But about his and Olinski's doings, not a word to me. When I would ask him if they had found anything worth finding, he would reply: "Just you wait, and see;" a vague term which he refused to make more definite.

In the silent watches of the night, he would sit at his telescope, his eyes trained on that beautiful, reddish planet, Mars. One morning, at four o'clock, I found him there, clad only in his pajamas, and he strongly resented my intrusion. But I had a task to perform, and that was to see that he got his proper rest. I had no wish that any member of our family should become psychopathic.

"Henry!" I exclaimed, rather harshly; "you've only a few hours before breakfast-time. Go to bed and get a bit of sleep."

I think he realized, instinctively, that I was not in sympathy with this business of trying to pick up radio signals from Mars. It all seemed so useless and incredible. His secret experiments had been in progress now for about a year. The tumult aroused by the discovery of the comet seemed a thing long past and forgotten. The memory of the public is short. Newer sensations had taken its place.

In this latest mad, scientific quest, Henry reminded me of one of Jane's goldfish, which swims in its bowl, and swims and swims, thousands of miles, perhaps, and then finds itself a few inches from its starting point. So one day I resolved to bring the matter to an issue. I slipped into his room just after he had disrobed and donned a dressing-gown, preparatory to taking a bath and dressing for dinner.

"Henry," I began, rather abruptly, "study and action are worth while, only when they lead you some place." But I was not destined to finish what was in my mind to say.

"I beg pardon, Livingston, if I disturb you," he interrupted in his meekest accents, and then went into his bathroom, and closed the door.

Determined to have my say, I followed him to the door, and knocked. The door opened, and his face, meek and anxious, looked out at me through a narrow crack.

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