id quietly. "I stopped when
you gave me the signal. That voice came after I stopped. Can't you
check--?"

A phone in the back of the control booth rang sharply and Colonel
Meadows answered it. He spoke for a few moments, then hung up. "That was
the stage manager calling from the main auditorium. You've got ten
minutes before the show. How do you feel?"

Crawford blinked in surprise. He had almost forgotten the program. He
tried to rise, found his legs trembling.

"He's in no condition to put on a show," said Dr. Shalt. "Better
postpone it."

"No, no, I'm okay," protested Crawford, walking around the small floor,
exercising his hands. "It's my show. They're waiting for me. Let's get
going."

In the car, during the ride to the auditorium, he did not speak. He sat
with Spud resting snugly against his chest, drumming his fingers on an
arm rest while Colonel Meadows and Dr. Shalt talked, tried to convince
him of the invalidity in his reasoning. There was a simple explanation
for the voice; either he had forgotten part of his speech or maybe some
amateur radio ham had somehow managed to pick up their signal and was
playing a joke. He was too intelligent a man to be frightened by such
coincidence. They spoke to him reassuringly all during the ride. At the
stage door he thanked them, then went inside the auditorium to give his
performance.

The ovation that greeted him was tremendous. The orchestra played his
theme and an army announcer introduced him as the Number One
ventriloquist in the world. He walked out slowly from the wing, waving
and grinning at the audience with Spud sitting erect on his arm.

The soldiers roared and whistled as Spud's head spun, drooped and tilted
in the opening routine that he was famous for. Crawford stopped in the
middle of the stage, rested his foot on a chair that had been provided,
sat Spud on his knee. The applause dwindled gradually and the other
members of the cast moved into their positions. The army announcer
walked forward to engage Crawford in conversation--to feed him questions
that would be answered in Spud's high, squeaky voice.

"Hi, Robbie, Spud," said the announcer. "What took you so long getting
here?"

It was Spud's answer. All eyes focused on the dummy's face as it bent
forward and its mouth opened slowly. A wooden hand moved up and
scratched a wooden head. But only a gurgle came out of the open mouth!

The announcer looked at Crawford, motioned him to speed up. "Sp