t they were different. They
had other properties of mind, other capabilities that men did not have.

They were not-men. They could exist, and co-exist, two people in one
frame, one person known, realized by all who saw, the other one
concealed except from those who learned how to look. They could use
their minds; they could rationalize correctly; they could use their
curious four-dimensional knowledge to bring them to answers no
three-dimensional man could reach.

_But they couldn't project into men's minds!_

Carefully, Harry peered down the misty tunnels. They were clever, these
creatures, and powerful. Since they had discovered that he knew them,
they had done their work of fear and terror on his mind skillfully. But
they were limited, too; they couldn't make things happen that were not
true--fantasies, illusions....

Yes, this dungeon was an illusion. It _had_ to be.

He cursed and started down the right-hand corridor, his heart sinking.
There was no such place and he knew it. He was walking in a dream, a
fantasy that had no substance, that could do no more than frighten him,
drive him insane; yet he must already have lost his mind to be accepting
such an illusion.

Why had he delayed? Why hadn't he gone to the Hoffman Center, laid the
whole story before Dr. Webber and Dr. Manelli at the very first, told
them what he had found? True, they might have thought him insane, but
they wouldn't have put him to torture. They might even have believed him
enough to investigate what he told them, and then the cat would have
been out of the bag. The tale would have been incredible, but at least
his mind would have been safe.

He turned down another corridor and walked suddenly into waist-deep
water, so cold it numbed his legs. He stopped again to force back the
tendrils of unreasoning horror that brushed his mind. Nothing could
really harm him. He would merely wait until his mind finally reached a
balance again. There might be no end; it might be a ghastly trap, but he
would wait.

Strangely, the mist was becoming greenish in color as it swirled toward
him in the damp vaulted passageway. His eyes began watering a little and
the lining of his nose started to burn. He stopped short, newly alarmed,
and stared at the walls, rubbing the tears away to clear his vision. The
greenish-yellow haze grew thicker, catching his eyes and burning like a
thousand furies, ripping into his throat until he was choking and
coughing, as tho