again to the bottom of the pool.

I touched the girl's head with one finger, and then pointed to my own
head, trying to convey to her that she could get her thoughts to me.
Then I held up the antennae and placed it on my own head to show that it
could not harm her.

My next move was to offer her the instrument, moving slowly, and smiling
reassuringly--no mean feat under water.

She hesitated a moment, and then, her eyes fixed on mine, she slowly
fixed the instrument over her own head as she had seen me adjust it upon
my own.

I smiled and nodded, and pressed her shoulder in token of friendly
greeting. Then, gesturing toward my own head again, and pointing upward.
I climbed the ladder.

"All right, Mercer," I shouted. "Start at once, before she grows
restless!"

"I've already started!" he called back, and I hurriedly donned my own
instrument.

Bearing in mind what Mercer had said, I descended the ladder but a few
rungs, so that my head remained out of water, and smiled down at the
girl, touching the instrument on my head, and then pointing to hers.

I could sense Mercer's thoughts now. He was picturing himself walking
long the shore, with the stormy ocean in the background. Ahead of him I
saw the white body lying face downward in the pool. I saw him run up to
the pool and lift the slim, pale figure in his arms.

* * * * *

Let me make it clear, at this point, that when I say that I saw
these things, I mean only that mental images of them penetrated my
consciousness. I visualized them just as I could close my eyes and
visualize, for example, the fireplace in the living room of my own
home.

I looked down at the girl. She was frowning, and her eyes were very
wide. Her head was a little on one side, in the attitude of one who
listens intently.

Slowly and carefully Mercer thought out the whole story of his
experiences with the girl until she had plunged into the pool. Then I
saw again the beach, with the girl's figure in the pool. The picture
grew hazy; I realized Mercer was trying to picture the bottom of the
sea. Then he pictured again the girl lying in the pool, and once again
the sea. I was aware of the soft little tick in the center of my brain
that announced that the switch had been moved to another contact point.

I glanced down at her. She was staring up at me with her great, curious
eyes, and I sensed, through the medium of the instrument I wore, that
she was thinki