h it, but I rather think not.

We fed them some of the black coffee, still reasonably hot. They were
scared; they were more scared than anything I had ever seen in those
kids before. They could hardly talk at first, and when finally they came
around enough to tell me what had happened I could hardly believe them.
This man had been small and peculiar, and he had been looking for, of
all things, the "Mafia," which he had read about in history
books--_old_ history books.

Well, it didn't make sense, unless you were prepared to make a certain
assumption that I refused to make. Man from Mars? Nonsense. Or from the
future? Equally ridiculous....

* * * * *

Then the five Leopards, reviving, began to walk around. The cellar was
dark and dirty, and packed with the accumulation of generations in the
way of old furniture and rat-inhabited mattresses and piles of
newspapers; it wasn't surprising that we hadn't noticed the little
gleaming thing that had apparently rolled under an abandoned potbelly
stove.

Jap picked it up, squalled, dropped it and yelled for me.

I touched it cautiously, and it tingled. It wasn't painful, but it was
an odd, unexpected feeling--perhaps you've come across the "buzzers"
that novelty stores sell which, concealed in the palm, give a sudden,
surprising tingle when the owner shakes hands with an unsuspecting
friend. It was like that, like a mild electric shock. I picked it up and
held it. It gleamed brightly, with a light of its own; it was round; it
made a faint droning sound; I turned it over, and it spoke to me. It
said in a friendly, feminine whisper: _Warning, this portatron attuned
only to Bailey's Beam percepts. Remain quiescent until the Adjuster
comes._

That settled it. Any time a lit-up cue ball talks to me, I refer the
matter to higher authority. I decided on the spot that I was heading for
the precinct house, no matter what the Leopards thought.

But when I turned and headed for the stairs, I couldn't move. My feet
simply would not lift off the ground. I twisted, and stumbled, and fell
in a heap; I yelled for help, but it didn't do any good. The Leopards
couldn't move either.

We were stuck there in Gomez's cellar, as though we had been nailed to
the filthy floor.

III

Cow

When I see what this flunky has done to them Leopards, I call him a cool
cat right away. But then we jump him and he ain't so cool. Angel and
Tiny grab him under th