At eight o'clock, two hours after the inception of the curious phenomena,
the condition suddenly passed. The intimation came to the various parts of
the city in different ways. Strangely enough, only gradually did the
lights and transportation facilities resume their functions. Most of the
dynamos were being inspected by puzzled experts. Here and there the
blazing of a group of lights, the ringing of a bell, the response of a
volt or ammeter to test, hinted to the masters of the lightnings that
their rebellious steeds again answered the bit.

Within a half-hour the city's illuminations again reflected softly from
the haze of the autumn sky; the clang of the merry trolley, the wail of
the motor's siren again smote the air.

Malachi McCarthy, having caught a ride on a friendly dray, arrived home.
At eight ten his telephone bell for the first time jangled its summons.
McCarthy answered it.

"I'm Simmons, the wireless operator," the small voice told him. "Say!
There's a lot of these fool messages in the air again. You know what they
said last night about six o'clock, and what happened."

"Let's have 'em," growled McCarthy.

"Here she is: 'McCarthy, will you do as I tell you? Answer. Remember the
sign at six o'clock.' It's signed 'M.'"

"Where did that come from?" asked the boss.

"Can't tell, but somewheres a long ways off."