sn't very pleasant to think about, no
matter how necessary it turned out to be.

He started up again. There were few cars on the road, although a lot
of them were parked along the sides. A series of _Closed_ signs on
filling stations explained that, and Malone began to be grateful for
the national emergency. It allowed him to drive without much
interference, anyhow.

* * * * *

_And a hearty good afternoon to all, he thought--especially to Miss
Luba Ardanko. I hope she's tuned in ... and, if she isn't, I hope
somebody alerts her. Frankly, I'd rather talk to her than to anyone
else I can think of at the moment. As a matter of fact, it's a little
easier to concentrate if I talk out loud, so I think I'll do that._

He swerved the car at this point, neatly avoiding a broken wooden
crate that crouched in wait for him. "Road hog," he told it bitterly,
and went on.

"Nothing personal," he went on after a second. "I don't care if you're
_all_ listening in, as a matter of fact. And I'm not going to hide
anything." He thought a second, and then added: "Frankly, I'm not sure
I've got anything to hide."

He paused and, in his imagination, he could almost hear Luba's voice.

_I'm listening, Kenneth,_ she said. _Go on._

He fished around in his mind for a second, wondering exactly where to
start. Then he decided, in the best traditions of the detective story,
not to mention "Alice in Wonderland," to start at the beginning.

"The dear old Psychical Research Society," he said, speaking earnestly
to his windshield, "has been going on for a good many years now--since
the 1880's, as a matter of fact. That's a long time and it adds up to
a lot of Psychical Research. A lot of famous and intelligent people
have belonged to the Society. And, with all that, it's hardly
surprising that, after nearly a hundred years of work, something
finally turned up."

At this point, there was another interruption. A couple of sawhorses
blocked the road ahead of Malone. As he stared at them, he felt his
prescience begin to itch. He took out his .44 Magnum and slowed the
car, memorizing the road as he passed it. He stopped the car before
the sawhorses. Three enlisted men carrying M-1 rifles, and a stern,
pale captain, his bars pointing sideways and glittering on his
shoulders, appeared from the sides of the road.

The captain's voice was a military bark. "Out of the car!"

Malone began to obey.

"With your hands