"Follow that car--at any cost," he ordered simply as he let
himself into the little motor, and the driver shot ahead down a
bit of side road and out into the main shore road again, urging
the car forward to overtake the one ahead.

Such was the entrance of the stranger--Marcius Del Mar--into
America.

. . . . . . .

How I managed to pass the time during the first days after the
strange disappearance of Kennedy, I don't know. It was all like a
dream--the apartment empty, the laboratory empty, my own work on
the Star uninteresting, Elaine broken-hearted, life itself a
burden.

Hoping against hope the next day I decided to drop around at the
Dodge house. As I entered the library unannounced, I saw that
Elaine, with a faith for which I envied her, was sitting at a
table, her back toward the door. She was gazing sadly at a
photograph. Though I could not see it, I needed not to be told
whose it was.

She did not hear me come in, so engrossed was she in her thoughts.
Nor did she notice me at first as I stood just behind her. Finally
I put my hand on her shoulder as if I had been an elder brother.

She looked up into my face. "Have you heard from him yet?" she
asked anxiously.