"But still, there's no immediate hurry.

Time enough for all that.

Lots of time." His thoughts wandered from _Nissr_ and the great adventure, from the coming attackers, from the vibratory apparatus, yes from the goal of all this undertaking itself, back to "Captain Alden." The _who_ and _why_, the _whence_ and _whither_ of this strange woman urgently intruded on his mind; nor by any effort of the will could he exclude these thoughts.
For a long time, while _Nissr_ roared away eastward, ever eastward into the night, he sat there, sunk in a profound revery.
"A woman," he whispered, finally, the words lingering on his lips.

"A woman, eh?
Strange--very strange!" Resolutely he forced himself to consider the plans he had laid out; his success thus far; the means he meant to take with the attacking squadrons; the consummation of his whole campaign so vast, so overpowering in its scope.
But through it all, persisted other thoughts.

And these, he found, he could not put away.
The buzzer of the desk-telephone again recalled him to himself.
"Hello, hello ?" "I have to report that a third squadron has been ordered into the air, from Monrovia," announced Menendez.
"Very well! Anything else ?" "No, sir." The Master hung up the receiver, arose, and seemed to shake himself from the kind of torpor into which his thoughts of the woman had plunged him.
"Enough of this nonsense!" growled he.