"I've been hoping you'd phone."

"I wanted to but there didn't seem to be anything to say. Nothing except
that I'm sorry I let you down so miserably."

"Frank! You didn't. You really didn't. It was just that--oh, it's not
important any more."

"No. It's not important now."

"Would you like a drink?"

"Thanks, no. I've come to say good-bye."

"Good-bye?"

"Yes. I'm leaving Park Hill--leaving New York. I'm going into a small
Minnesota hospital to finish my internship. Then I'll probably practice
out there somewhere."

Behind the new glitter of her eyes there was stark misery.
"Frank--Frank--what went wrong with us?"

The appeal was a labored whisper.

"I don't know, Rhoda. I should know but I don't. I should have known
what was wrong so I could have done something about it. It just went
sour, I guess."

She turned and walked to the window. He wondered if there were tears in
her eyes.

"Good-bye, Rhoda."

"Good-bye, Frank. I'm sorry."

The door hadn't quite closed. Now, as Frank Corson turned, he found it
open. A man stood there--a man in a blue suit with empty eyes.

Frank stared at the man for long seconds. His eyes went toward the
window. Rhoda had turned. She was watching the man in the doorway,
looking past Frank at the creature from somewhere in space who was
neither man nor machine. _But how--?_ Frank Corson asked himself the
question. _Good God! How had this thing come about?_

"Not--not _him_," he finally exploded.

Rhoda was walking forward. The look of fevered excitement was in her
eyes. "Please leave, Frank." She did not look at him as she spoke. She
kept her eyes on the man in the blue suit.

"Not him!"

"Please leave, Frank."

But it was too late. The door had closed. The man was looking at Frank.
"Sit down," he said.

Frank Corson sat down. He saw the man and he saw Rhoda, but they seemed
unimportant. Something had happened to his mind and he was busy
struggling with it. That was all that was important.

The strange lethargy that came like a cloud over his mind was beyond
understanding.

* * * * *

Captain Abrams looked into the closet and back at Brent Taber. His lips
were back a little off his teeth. With Abrams, this indicated anger.

"All right. What does Washington do about this one? Does Washington tell
us to be good little boys and go hand out parking tickets?"

"It wasn't like that," Taber said.

"It doesn't much matter how it wa