ion?"

"Very easily," Cavender said. "I've talked with her physician. Mrs.
Folsom belongs to a not uncommon type of people whose tickers are as
sound as yours or mine, but who are convinced they have a serious
heart ailment and can dish up symptoms impressive enough to fool
anyone but an informed professional. They can stop dishing them up
just as readily if they think they've been cured." He smiled faintly.
"You look as if you might be finally convinced, Perrie."

She nodded. "I ... yes, I guess so. I guess I am."

"All right," Cavender said. He stood up. "You three can run along
then. You won't be officially involved in this matter, and no one's
going to bother you. If you want to go on playing around with E.S.P.
and so forth, that's your business. But I trust that in future you'll
have the good sense to keep away from characters like Grady. Periods
of confusion, chronic nightmares--even chronic headaches--are a good
sign you're asking for bad trouble in that area."

They thanked him, started out of the office in obvious relief. At the
door, Perrie Rochelle hesitated, looked back.

"Mr. Cavender...."

"Yes?"

"You don't think I ... I need...."

"Psychiatric help? No. But I understand," Cavender said, "that you
have a sister in Maine who's been wanting you to spend the summer with
her. I think that's a fine idea! A month or two of sun and salt water
is exactly what you can use to drive the last of this nonsense out of
your mind again. So good night to the three of you, and good luck!"

* * * * *

Cavender snapped the top of the squat little thermos flask back in
place and restored it to the glove compartment of Jeffries' car. He
brushed a few crumbs from the knees of his trousers and settled back
in the seat, discovering he no longer felt nearly as tired and washed
out as he had been an hour ago in the lecture room. A few cups of
coffee and a little nourishment could do wonders for a man, even at
the tail end of a week of hard work.

The last light in the Institute building across the street went out
and Cavender heard the click of the front door. The bulky figure of
Detective Sergeant Reuben Jeffries stood silhouetted for a moment in
the street lights on the entrance steps. Then Jeffries came down the
steps and crossed the street to the car.

"All done?" Cavender asked.

"All done," Jeffries said through the window. He opened the door,
eased himself in behind the wheel a