“Leave the message in the telegraph room as you go out,” went on the city editor.  “Mr. Whiggen may want it.  Hustle now, Larry, and do your best.”

Many envious eyes followed Larry Dexter as he hurried out of the city room, putting on his coat and hat as he went, for he had been working in his shirt sleeves.

Larry went down the long corridor, stopping in the telegraph room to leave the message which was destined to be responsible for his part in a series of strange events.  He had little idea, as he left the Leader office that morning, that his assignment to get the story of the wreck was the beginning of a singular mystery.

Larry cashed the order Mr. Emberg had given him, and hurried to the railroad station.  He found there was no train for an hour, and, telephoning to the city editor to that effect, received permission to go home and get some extra clothing, as he might have to stay away several days.

The young reporter rather startled his mother as he hurried in to tell her he was going out of town, but Mrs. Dexter had, in a measure, become used to her son doing all sorts of queer things since he had started in newspaper life.

“Will you be gone long, Larry?” she asked, as he kissed her good-bye, having packed a small valise.

“Can’t say, mother.  Probably not more than two days.”

“Bring me some sea shells,” begged Larry’s brother, Jimmie, a bright little chap.

“And I want a lobster and a crab and a starfish,” spoke Mary, a sunny-haired toddler.

“All right, and I’ll bring Lucy some shells to make beads of,” answered Larry, mentioning his older sister, who was not at home.

Larry found he had not much time left to catch his train, and he was obliged to hurry to the ferry which took him to Jersey City.  There he boarded a Pennsylvania Railroad train, and was soon being whirled toward the coast.

Seven Mile Beach was a rather dangerous stretch of the Jersey shore, not far from Cape May.  There were several lighthouses along it, but they did not always prevent vessels from running on a long sand bar, some distance out.  More than one gallant ship had struck far up on it, and, being unable to get off, had been pounded to pieces by the waves.

By inquiring Larry found that the wreck of the Olivia was just off a lonely part of the coast, and that there were no railroad stations near it.

“Where had I better get off?” he asked, of the conductor.

“Well, you can get off at Sea Isle City, or Sackett’s Harbor.  Both stations are about five miles from where the ship lies, according to all accounts.  Then you can walk.”

“He can do better than that,” interposed a brakeman.

“How?” asked Larry.

“There’s a station, or rather what remains of it, half way between those places,” the brakeman said.  “It used to be called Miller’s Beach.  Started to be a summer resort, but it failed.  There’s nothing there now but a few fishermen’s huts.  But I guess that’s nearer the wreck than Sea Isle City or Sackett’s Harbor.”