e
was saying: "What does it look like?"

"It's just a lump of something, Dr. Hadamard. Can't even tell its
shape--it's buried too deeply in the mud." _Cloonk_ ... _Oing_, _oing_
...

"Try the Geiger."

"We did. Nothing but background."

"Scintillation counter?"

"Nothing, Dr. Hadamard. Could be it's shielded."

"Let us do the guessing, Monig. All right, maybe it's got a clockwork
fuse that didn't break with the impact. Or a gyroscopic fuse. Stick a
stethoscope on it and see if you pick up a ticking or anything that
sounds like a motor running."

* * * * *

There was a lag and I turned back to Braun. "As you can see, we're
stymied. This is a long shot, Mr. Braun. One throw of the dice--one
show-down hand. We've got to have an expert call it for us--somebody
with a record of hits on long shots. That's why I called you."

"It's no good," he said. He took off the Homburg, took his handkerchief
from his breast pocket, and wiped the hatband. "I can't do it."

"Why not?"

"It ain't my _kind_ of thing," he said. "Look, I never in my life run
odds on anything that made any difference. But this makes a difference.
If I guess wrong--"

"Then we're all dead ducks. But why should you guess wrong? Your hunches
have been working for sixty years now."

Braun wiped his face. "No. You don't get it. I wish you'd listen to me.
Look, my wife and my kids are in the city. It ain't only my life, it's
theirs, too. That's what I care about. That's why it's no good. On
things that matter to me, _my hunches don't work_."

I was stunned, and so, I could see, were Joan and Cheyney. I suppose I
should have guessed it, but it had never occurred to me.

"Ten minutes," Cheyney said.

I looked up at Braun. He was frightened, and again I was surprised
without having any right to be. I tried to keep at least my voice calm.

"Please try it anyhow, Mr. Braun--as a favor. It's already too late to
do it any other way. And if you guess wrong, the outcome won't be any
worse than if you don't try at all."

"My kids," he whispered. I don't think he knew that he was speaking
aloud. I waited.

Then his eyes seemed to come back to the present. "All right," he said.
"I told you the truth, Andy. Remember that. So--is it a bomb or ain't
it? That's what's up for grabs, right?"

I nodded. He closed his eyes. An unexpected stab of pure fright went
down my back. Without the eyes, Braun's face was a death mask.

The