"You mean the Jenny is still there?" she asked.

"Yes," said Dennis, "she's just where she was when we arrived from Glasnabinnie in Hilderman's boat yesterday."

"Mr. Burnham!" Myra cried suddenly, "is there another boat, a brown motor-boat, anchored just out there?"

"No," said Dennis, realising how terribly handicapped they were by Myra's inability to see.

"Are you sure?" the girl asked anxiously.

"Quite sure," said Dennis positively. "There is one motor-boat here, and that is all."

"I suppose he took that to put Hilderman off the scent," Myra mused, "and in that case he is probably quite safe. I daresay he's gone to look for our friend von What's-his name's yacht or his house at Loch Duich."

Dennis clutched at the opportunity this theory gave him to allay her fears, and declared that it was ridiculous of him not to have thought of it before, and he gave Myra his arm to the house. But he was not at all satisfied with it, and, as it turned out afterwards, Myra was not very confident about it either. Dennis knew me well enough to know that I should never have set out with the deliberate intention of stopping away overnight without leaving some more definite message for my fiancee. However, their thoughts were speedily diverted, for they had hardly reached the house before a strange man made his way towards them through the heather.

"Mr. Ewart, sir?" he asked.

"Do you wish to speak to Mr. Ewart?" Dennis asked cautiously.

"I have a parcel and a message for him from Mr. Garnesk," said the stranger, a young man, who might have been anything by profession.

"Oh, indeed," said Dennis, his suspicions aroused at once. Garnesk, he knew, had only arrived in Glasgow the night before.

"I see you are wondering how I got here and why I came down the hill, instead of up a road of some sort," said the youth with a smile.

"Frankly, I was," Dennis admitted.

"Then, perhaps, I had better explain who I am and how I come to be here. My name is McKenzie. I am employed by Welton and Delaunay, the Glasgow opticians, makers of the 'Weldel' telescopes and binoculars. Mr. Garnesk has a good deal to do with our firm in the matter of designs for special glasses to withstand furnace heat, for ironworkers, etc. He arrived at the works last night in a car, and, after consulting with the manager, they kept a lot of us at work all night on a new design of spectacles.

"I was sent with this parcel in the early hours of the morning. There was no passenger train, but Mr. Garnesk got me a military pass on a fish train, and here I am. I was to deliver the parcel to Mr. Ewart, or, failing him, to Miss McLeod. When I saw this lady with the—er—the shade over her eyes I thought you were probably Mr. Ewart, sir."

"I'm not, as a matter of fact," said Dennis. "But where have you come from, and why didn't you come up the path?"

"Mr. Garnesk gave me instructions, sir, which I read to the boatman who brought me here. Mr. Garnesk said I would find several fishermen at Mallaig who had motor-boats, and would bring me across. He also gave me this paper, and told me on no account to deviate from the directions he gave."

Dennis held out his hand for the paper. He glanced through it, and then read it to Myra.

"Take a motor-boat from Mallaig to Invermalluch Lodge," he read. "Tell the man to cross the top of Loch Hourn as if he were going to Glenelg, but when he gets well round the point he is to double back, and land you as near as he can to the house, but to keep on the far side of the point. You are on no account to be taken to the landing-stage at the lodge. When you arrive at the lodge insist on seeing Mr. Ewart, or Miss McLeod personally, if Mr. Ewart is not there. Then rejoin your motor-boat, and go on to Glenelg. Wait there for the first boat that will take you to Mallaig, and come back by the train. Do not return to Mallaig by motor-boat."

"Those are very elaborate instructions, Mr. Burnham," said Myra. "It would seem that Mr. Garnesk is very suspicious about something."

"Evidently," Dennis agreed. "You'd better let Miss McLeod have that parcel," he added to McKenzie. The youth handed him the parcel, and at Myra's suggestion Dennis opened it. Topmost among its contents was a letter addressed to me. Dennis tore it open and read it.

"Miss McLeod is to wear a pair of these glasses until I see her again. She will be able to see through them fairly well, but she must not remove them. The consequences might be fatal. The three other pairs are for you and Burnham, and one extra in case of accidents. It will also come in handy if you take Hilderman into your confidence. Wear these glasses when you are in any danger of coming in contact with the green ray. I have an idea that they will act as a decided protection. I also enclose one Colt automatic pistol and cartridges, the only one I could get in the middle of the night. If you decide to ask Hilderman's help tell him everything. I am sure he will be very useful to you. Keep your courage up, old man! The best to you all. In haste.—H.G."

"We're certainly learning something," said Dennis, as he finished. "Obviously Garnesk is very suspicious of somebody, but it's not Hilderman. He writes as if he were pretty sure of himself. Probably he has proved his theory about Hilderman being a Government detective."

"I have a message for Mr. Ewart, sir," the messenger interrupted.

"You had better tell it me," Dennis suggested.

"I'd rather Miss McLeod asked me," McKenzie demurred. "Those were Mr. Garnesk's instructions. He said 'failing Mr. Ewart, insist on seeing Miss McLeod.'"

"Very well," laughed Myra. "I quite appreciate your point. May I know the message?"

"Mr. Ewart was to take no notice whatever of anything Mr. Garnesk said in his letter about Mr. Hilderman. He was on no account to trust Mr. Hilderman, but to be very careful not to let him see he was suspected. The gentlemen were always to wear their glasses whenever they were in sight of the hut above—Glas.—above Mr. Hilderman's house."

"Whew!" Dennis whistled. "But why didn't he——? Oh, I see. He was afraid the letter might fall into Hilderman's hands."

"I wonder where Ron can have got to?" Myra mused wistfully.

"We're very much obliged to you for all the trouble you have taken, Mr. McKenzie," said Dennis. "You've done very well indeed."

"Oh, Mr. Garnesk also said that Miss McLeod was to put on her glasses by the red light."

"Yes; that's important," Dennis agreed. "We'll go up to the house now, shall we, Miss McLeod?"

"Yes," said Myra, "and Mr. McKenzie must come and have a meal and a rest, as I'm sure he needs both after his journey. I'll send Angus to look after the boatman." So the three strolled up to the lodge.

"By the way," said Dennis, "of course it's all right, and you've carried out your instructions to the letter, but how can you be sure this is Miss McLeod, and how do you know I'm not Hilderman?"

"Mr. Garnesk described everybody I should be likely to meet," McKenzie replied, "including Mr. Hilderman and Mr. Fuller. I know you are Mr. Ewart's friend because you have a small white scar above your left eyebrow. So, being with you, and wearing a shade and an Indian bangle, I thought I was safe in concluding the lady was Miss McLeod."

"Garnesk doesn't seem to miss much!" Dennis laughed.

"He made me repeat his descriptions about twenty times," said McKenzie, "so I felt pretty sure of myself."

When they got up to the lodge, and the messenger's requirements had been administered to, Dennis unpacked the parcel. The spectacles proved to be something like motor goggles; they fitted closely over the nose and forehead, and entirely excluded all light except that which could be seen through the glass. The only curious thing about them was the glass itself. Instead of being white, or even blue, it was red, and the surface was scratched diagonally in minute parallel lines. Myra and Dennis hurried upstairs, and lighted the lamp in the dark-room. When the girl came down again she declared that she could see beautifully. Everything was red, of course, but she could see quite distinctly.

"Have you any idea why these glasses are ruled in lines like this?" Dennis asked McKenzie.

"I couldn't say for certain, sir," the youth replied. "But I should think it was because Mr. Garnesk thought the glasses would be so near the eye as to be ineffective. In photography, for instance, you can't print either bromide or printing-out paper in a red light. But if you coat a red glass with emulsion, and make an exposure on it, you can print the negative in the usual way. I don't know why it is."

"Perhaps there is no space for a ray to form," Myra suggested.

"You must tell Mr. Garnesk how deeply grateful we all are to him," said Dennis. "I'll give you a letter to take back to him. It has been a wonderfully quick bit of work!"

"I should think he has got some hundreds of the glasses finished by this time," said McKenzie, "and he has already asked for an estimate for fifty thousand of them."

"Whatever for?" Myra exclaimed.

"I couldn't say at all, but Mr. Garnesk probably has it all mapped out. He always knows what he's about."

A couple of hours later McKenzie left for Glenelg, with ample time to catch his boat, and the others sat down to lunch. Myra was delighted that she could see, even though everything was red. Just as they had finished lunch a telegram was delivered to Dennis. It was handed in at Mallaig, and it read: "Don't worry about me. May be away for a few days.—EWART."

"Oh, good!" exclaimed Dennis. "A wire from Ron. He's all right. 'Don't worry about me. May be away for a few days.' Sent from Mallaig. He may have got something he feels he must tell Garnesk about, and has gone to Glasgow."

"I expect that's it," Myra agreed. "I'm glad he's wired. I do hope he'll write from wherever he is to-night. Do you think I shall get a letter in the morning?"

"Certain to," Dennis vowed, laying the telegram on the mantelpiece. "He's sure to write, however busy he is."

Though Myra was disappointed that there was no personal message for her, she tried to believe that everything was all right. Dennis went on what he called coastguard duty, and watched the sea and shores with the untiring loyalty of a faithful dog. That night, after dinner, he went out to keep an eye on things, and left Myra with her father. She has told me since that she felt miserable that I had not wired to her, and went to fetch my telegram in order to get what comfort she could from my message to Dennis. She held the telegram under the light, and read it through. The words were: "May be away for a few days.—EWART." She made out the faint pencil writing slowly through the red glass. She read it twice through, and then suddenly collapsed into an armchair in the horror of swift realisation. "Ewart!" she whispered, "Ewart! He would never sign a telegram to Mr. Burnham in that way. If Ronnie didn't send that wire, who did?"

In a moment she jumped to her feet. She must act, and act quickly.

She ran into the den, and picked up the revolver and cartridges which Garnesk had sent, and which she had put carefully away until I should come and claim them. She loaded the revolver, and tucked it in the pocket of the Burberry coat which she slipped on in the hall. Then she tore down to the landing-stage, and made straight for Glasnabinnie in the Jenny Spinner. She had got about half a mile when Dennis, coming up to the top of the cliff on his self-imposed coastguard duties, saw her and recognised her through his binoculars.

He ran down to the landing-stage, putting on his red glasses as he went. His horror was complete when he found there was no craft of any kind about, not even a rowboat. Alas! I had idiotically allowed the dinghy to drift away. He ran along the shore, every now and then looking anxiously through his binoculars for any sign of any kind of boat that would get him over to Glasnabinnie in time to fulfil his promise of looking after "Ron's little girl."

Myra has since admitted—and how proud I was to hear her say it—that she forgot about everything and everybody except that I was in danger, and probably Hilderman knew something about it. Her one thought was to hold the pistol to his head and demand my safe return.

She came ashore a little beyond the house, having made a rather wide detour, so that she should not be seen. She knew the best way to the hut, and there was a light in it. She thought Hilderman would be there. She had passed well to seaward of the Fiona, and noticed that she was standing by with steam up. Myra climbed the hill to the hut with as much speed as she could.

Hilderman was standing below the door of the smoking-room talking to three men. She knew that she would have no chance, even with a revolver, against four men. She might hurt one of them, but she recognised, fortunately, that the others would overpower her.

Eventually Hilderman went into the hut, and two of the men stayed outside talking. The other went down the hill. It was in watching this man that Myra saw the sight that had astonished me, the continuous stream of lights down the bed of the burn. She waited, so she said it seemed, for hours and hours, before she could see a real chance of attacking Hilderman.

Indeed, neither she nor Dennis can give any very clear idea precisely how long it was that she waited there, but it must have been a considerable time. At last Hilderman was alone. Myra crept to the edge of the little plateau on which the hut stood, and then made a dash for the door. She thrust it open and stepped inside, pulling it to behind her. Hilderman sprang to his feet with an oath as he saw her.

"Heavens!" he cried. "You!"

Myra drew the revolver and presented it at him.

"Put up your hands, Mr. Hilderman," she said, with a calmness that astonished herself, "and tell me what you have done with Ronnie—Mr. Ewart."

"I must admit you've caught me, Miss McLeod!" Hilderman replied. "I can only assure you that your fiance is safe."

"Where is he?" Myra asked.

"He is quite close at hand," Hilderman assured her, "and quite safe. What do you want me to do?"

"You must set him free at once," said Myra quietly.

"And if I refuse?"

"I shall shoot you and anyone else who comes near me."

"Now look here, Miss McLeod," said Hilderman, "I may be prepared to come to terms with you. If you shot me and half a dozen others it would not help you to find Mr. Ewart. On the other hand, it would be awkward for us to have a lot of shooting going on, and I have no wish to harm Mr. Ewart. If I produce him, and allow you two to go away, are you prepared to swear to me that you will neither of you breathe a word of anything you may know to any living soul for forty-eight hours? I think I can trust you."

Myra thought it over quickly.

"Yes," she said, "if you will——"

But she never finished the sentence. At that moment someone caught her wrist in a grip of steel, and wrenched the pistol from her.

"Come, come, Miss McLeod," said Fuller. "This is very un-neighbourly of you."

Myra looked round her in despair. There must be some way out of this. She cudgelled her brains to devise some means of getting the better of her captives. Fuller laid the pistol on the table and sat down.

"You need not be alarmed," he said. "We shall not hurt you. You will be left here, that is all. And we shall get safely away. After this we shall not be able to leave your precious lover with you, but Hilderman insists that he shall not be hurt, and we shall take him to Germany and treat him as a prisoner of war."

Then Myra had an inspiration. She turned her head towards Fuller, as if she were looking about two feet to the right of his head.

"You may as well kill me as leave me here," she said calmly.

"Nonsense," said Hilderman. "If we leave you here, and see that you have no means of getting away by sea, you will have to find your way across the hills or round the cliffs. There is no road, and by the time you return to civilisation we shall be clear."

"That's very thoughtful of you," said Myra. "You bargain on my falling over a precipice or something. A blind girl would have a splendid chance of getting back safely!"

"Good heavens!" Hilderman cried. "I thought you must be able to see. Fuller, this means that that fellow Burnham came with her, and is close at hand. What in the name——"

But he, too, was interrupted, for a great, gaunt figure flashed like some weird animal through the window. A long bare arm reached over Fuller's shoulder and snatched the pistol.

"Yes, Mr. Burnham is with her," said Dennis quietly, as he stood in front of them, stripped to the waist, the water pouring off him in streams, and covered them with the revolver.

Hilderman and Fuller von Guernstein held up their hands as requested.

"This is very awkward," said Fuller. "We shall have to let that wretched Ewart go."

And then Dennis swayed, threw up his arms, and fell sideways, full length on the floor. Myra glanced at him, and threw herself on her knees beside the prostrate form.

"Dead!" she screamed. "Dead!"

Hilderman pushed her gently aside, and knelt down to examine Dennis.

"It's his heart," he announced. "Come Hugo. We're safe now, and the girl's blind. Let's get away."



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE TRUTH REVEALED.

I will here resume my own narrative.

When I came to myself I was dazed and aching, but, so far as I could discover, there were no bones broken. The curious part about it was the rapidity with which I recalled my fall into the cavern. When I found I could move my limbs freely I sat up, and discovered that I was in a small cabin on board a steamer. I stood up and stretched myself. I was feeling weak and ill, but that would pass off I thought. A minute's speculation decided me that I was on board the Fiona, in which case I was shanghaied.

I knew that if I valued my life I must act at once. I opened the door of the cabin, and was surprised to find that it was unlocked. Then I crept cautiously in the shadows of the dawn up the companion-ladder to the deck. Though I heard voices I could see no one close to me. I stole along the deck and listened. The voices were talking quite freely in German. Where could we be? And, more important still, where were we going?

I looked around me, and saw that we were steaming slowly down a narrow loch, surrounded by mountains which stretched right down to the shores. I looked across the deck and almost shouted out in my surprise. For there, moving gracefully alongside of us, was a submarine. There were two officers on the deck of the submarine chatting with Hilderman and Fuller, who were leaning over the rail of the Fiona. A submarine! A German submarine in a peaceful Scottish loch! Then this was the secret base we had discussed. I looked up at the wheel-house. In front of it was the very searchlight, with its curious condenser that I had seen in the cavern.

What could it mean? I decided to slip overboard unseen, if possible, swim to the shore, and get back over the rocks to the mouth of the loch, and give the alarm if I should be fortunate enough to attract the attention of any passing steamer.

But suddenly an idea struck me. I crept quickly up the ladder to the deckhouse, threw my arms round the man at the wheel, flung him down on to the deck, and swung the wheel round with all the strength I had in me. There was a dull, crunching sound as the yacht lurched round. A groaning shiver shook her, and, if I may be pardoned the illustration, it felt exactly as if the ship were going to be sick. There were hoarse cries from the men, and as the Fiona righted herself I looked astern. There was a frothy, many-coloured effervescence of oil and water.

The submarine had disappeared! The yacht was nearing the head of the loch. It was now or never. I made a dash for the side, but Fuller was before me. He tripped me up, and I fell heavily to the deck, bruising myself badly and giving my head a terrible bump. I put up my arm in a last feeble attempt to defend myself. Fuller's hands closed on my throat and nearly choked the life out of me, and as I sank back, struggling for breath, a loud cry rang out from Hilderman.

"Guernstein! Guernstein!" he yelled.

Fuller let me go and ran to Hilderman. I lifted myself on my elbow. Somehow or other I would crawl to the side, and get away before he came back to finish me, but as I looked out over the stern I was rooted to the spot by the sight that met my eyes. Or was I deluding myself with the fantastic delirium of a dying man? Not four hundred yards away was a motor-boat. It was Hilderman's Baltimore II., and in it were Myra, my poor Myra, and Garnesk and Angus, all wearing motor-goggles. But, strangest of all, a British destroyer was puffing serenely behind them. No, I must be dreaming. Garnesk had told me he was sending glasses for Myra. He had mentioned his connection with the naval authorities. This must be the nightmare of death-agony.

Then Fuller rushed up the wheel-house ladder and jumped on to the searchlight platform. Suddenly there flashed out on the grey light of the dawn a vivid green ray. So, then, the mystery was solved—but, alas! too late. The green ray was produced by a searchlight, and every man on the destroyer would be blind. I looked back, and as I did so I remembered, with an uncanny distinctness, old General McLeod's words, "The rock came to me." The warship seemed suddenly to grow double its size, and then double that, and so on, growing bigger and bigger until it appeared to fill the entire loch, and spread out the whole length of the horizon. I could even see a gold signet-ring on the finger of a young officer on the bridge. I looked round at the details of the boat; it stood out in amazing clearness. If one man on that ship, hundreds of yards away, had opened his mouth I could have counted his teeth. Suddenly I gasped with astonishment as I awoke to the fact that every man on board the destroyer was wearing motor-goggles! I had no time to speculate about this new surprise, for then the Fiona, left to her own devices, suddenly crashed ashore. The ship shook and shivered, and Fuller was thrown on his face beside the searchlight, and as I looked again the destroyer had resumed its normal proportions.

Then the crew of the Fiona rushed about the deck in mad terror, until, evidently at the wise suggestion of one of their number, they decided to wait calmly and give themselves up. Hilderman, closely followed by Fuller, sprang ashore, and made for the mountains. Half a dozen shots rang out from the destroyer, and a rifle bullet checked Fuller's progress before he had gone more than a few yards.

Hilderman, however, managed to reach the shelter of a ridge of rock, and I watched him as he scuttled up the mountain side, and made straight for a long grey rock which protruded from the foot of a steep crag. And as I looked, and saw him go to the rock and open a door in it, I realised that it was really a great, grey, lean-to shed, cunningly concealed. Hilderman had scarcely opened the door when a huge, dark shadow seemed to fall out of the shed and envelop him. It was Sholto. Blind, and half-mad with fury, he sprang at Hilderman's throat with the unerring aim of his breed. The wretched man staggered and fell, and Sholto——.

I turned away from the sickening sight, and looked over the side, and saw Myra standing up, waving to me, as they drew alongside the wrecked Fiona.

And then I'm afraid I must have fainted.

* * * * *

I lay on the sofa in Myra's den, and Myra—God bless her!—was kneeling beside me. Sholto was with us too, looking incredibly wise in a pair of motor-goggles.

"So you see, darling," said Myra, "the glasses cured me completely, and I can see just as well as ever." And I shall not repeat what I said in reply to such glorious news.

"Tell me, dear," I asked shortly, "what exactly happened with Dennis? I haven't quite got that."

"Well, he saw me on my way to Glasnabinnie," she explained, "and was determined to follow. He couldn't find a boat of any kind, so he swam! Angus saw him in the water and ran and told daddy. When they found there was no boat they went and fetched the one on the loch, carried it down to the sea, and called Hamish. Then they pulled across. Then, you see, when Dennis had his heart attack, I thought he was only pretending. I thought he saw that we should never be able to get away again, and that if he pretended to be dead they would leave us alone. So I followed his lead. I was terribly frightened when I couldn't make him answer me after they had gone, but before I could do anything daddy and the men arrived. Angus stopped with me, and told me where the Fiona had gone. We took the Baltimore because she is much faster than our boat. He must have been a duffer to lose that race we had. And then daddy and Hamish took Dennis—I refuse to call him Mr. Burnham after this—and brought him here and sent for Dr. Whitehouse."

"I'm thankful he's out of danger," I said fervently.

"But the doctor says he must take it very, very gently for a long time, and he won't be able to walk much for months. Did he know he had this heart trouble?"

I had scarcely finished explaining the extent of Dennis's heroism when Garnesk arrived.

"Hilderman's dead!" he said. "He made a full confession. It seems he is a German, and his name's von Hilder. He has lived most of his life in America. He is a brilliant physicist, and has done some big things with electricity and light. He was here to prepare the submarine base you found, and he also got on with a new invention—The Green Ray. Of course he didn't give the secret of that away, but we have the searchlight, and I have already tumbled to it partly. It is practically a new form of light.

"It is formed by passing violet and orange rays through tourmaline and quartz respectively. The accident to Miss McLeod was their first intimation of its blinding properties, and to the end he knew nothing about the suffocation part of it. I find by experiment that when the two rays are switched on simultaneously the air does not become de-oxygenised, but when you put the violet ray first it does, and it remains so until the orange ray is applied. The effect that Hilderman imagined, and succeeded in producing, was a ray of light which should so alter the relative density of the air as to act as a telescope. He's done it, and it's one of the finest achievements of science. However, I have a piece of wonderful news for you."

"What is it?" we both demanded at once.

"The Secret of the Green Ray is ours, and ours alone. Hilderman has admitted that the reason why they did not clear it out at the first sign of suspicion was that, in their final calculations, they were unsure of their figures. That means, put popularly, that though he knew what he was trying to do, and how he meant to do it, the actual result was something of a fluke. It very often is with inventors. They had no drawings that they could rely on to make another searchlight by, so they were bound to take the whole thing back with them. They could send no figures, because the relative distances and other quantities baffled them. They could not take the searchlight back in pieces, because if any piece had been broken they might not have been able to reconstruct the proportions with critical accuracy, as we say. So what was to have been Germany's hideous weapon of war is now ours. We have a searchlight which acts as a telescope, which will pierce the deepest fog, and which will dispel the most ungodly poisonous gases ever invented. You can see for yourself that no gas could make headway against the atmosphere you encountered the other day. Armies and navies will be absolutely powerless to advance against it. The green ray is the fourth arm of military power. So you see what you've done for your country, you lucky dog!"

"I!" I cried. "I like that! I've had less to do with it than anyone. What about you, eh?—coming running up with a gunboat at the critical moment. How did you manage that?"

"Well," he replied, "as soon as I was in the train on my way back I solved the problem of the fateful hour—with your help, of course. You pointed out that only then was the whole of the gorge flooded with sunshine. Now, it struck me that, if it were not electricity, it would be heat or some other form of light. Then it flashed into my mind that if it were done from a searchlight possessed of some devilish properties the light would not be visible, but the properties would continue to act. Voila! Then I had already—also with your help—had some doubt of von Hilder; and the hut was the place from which a searchlight would operate on the river. As soon as I got out of the train I taxied to my naval chief, under whom I am working throughout the war, and simply paralysed him with the whole yarn. I pitched him such a tale that he got through to the gunboat to stand by at Mallaig. They were at Portree, nice and handy. I rushed and got the glasses done for the men, picked up the destroyer at Mallaig, and made round here to find out what was happening. Then we sighted Miss McLeod and Angus, and you know the rest. Miss McLeod refused to take the shelter the warship offered, and Angus refused to leave her, so I stayed with them. We acted as pilot-boat, and there you are. That's the lot! Are you satisfied?"

"I'm satisfied, old man," I said, holding out my hand. "Some day I'll try and tell you how satisfied."

"Oh, that's all right," he laughed, and left us in great spirits to return to the searchlight.

And so I was left alone with Myra, who a month ago became my wife. For my services rendered in connection with the remarkable affair I received an appointment in the Naval Intelligence Department, while many of our recent successes on land and on sea have, though the truth has been withheld from the public, been due to the employment of The Green Ray.

THE END.

Printed in Great Britain by Wyman & Sons, Ltd., London and Reading.



TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetter's errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent.