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city of Dor stood upon cliffs. Many of its buildings had fallen, and its palace and temple were on fire. Little remained that had escaped nature’s hand of destruction. Nor was there any sign of human survival. The volcano vomited its pall of smoke, black above,

blood-red below, and the slow lava stream had almost reached the line of trees. Everything was dull with the gray film that floated in patches upon the dying lake. Here was the abomination of desolation.

“Not a cheerful outlook,” said Morse. “But it is an outlook!”

“There are no boats,” said Kiron.

“There are trees,” Morse answered. “We can build a raft.”

Three months later there was talk across the table in Morse’s dining room.

“I think I’ll go back to Atlantis,” said Laidlaw. Kiron made a face. “Haven’t you had enough of destruction?” he asked.

Laidlaw smiled. “I don’t think you four have been married long enough for me to coax away the grooms, but I want to finish my researches, and with Kiron’s permission I’m going to form a company.”

“A company for what?” asked Kiron. “And why with my permission?”

“Because you should have the first claim on it. The lake bottom off the temple water stairs ought to be high and dry by now. There’s a fortune lying there in gold and jewels to be picked up.”

“Getting a mercenary streak, Laidlaw?” laughed Morse.

“Money is always useful, if only to leave to godchildren,” answered the scientist. “I’ll use most of it for archeological researches, with the exception of the possible legacies just mentioned. Want to come with me, Kiron?”

The late king of Atlantis shook his head.

“We haven’t started on what you call our honeymoon yet. Better come with us, Laidlaw. We are going to spend it in Crete.”

“A lot of company you’d be to me, or I to you,” said the scientist. “I prefer Atlantis. How about you, Morse? Think of the treasure-trove we can uncover.”

“I think,” said Morse, as his hand closed over that of Leola’s, “that as far as I’m concerned, I have the treasure of Atlantis.”

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