ned when he insisted the cuffs be
turned up at once, and that he wanted to wear it immediately. It took
nearly an hour, but he felt safe, for a change. A five-and-ten
furnished a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses that seemed to have blanks in
them, and he decided he might get by.

There was no evidence of pursuit. He caught a cab, and headed for the
library. Ellen had been well-heeled--suspiciously so for a girl who
lived in a cold-water flat like that; he'd peeled fifteen tens from
her wallet, and there'd been more, not to mention the twenties. His
conscience bothered him a bit, but he was in no position to worry too
much.

* * * * *

The library was still the puzzle of the ages to him--he'd used it half
his life, and still found it impossible to guess why such a building
had been chosen. But eventually, he found the periodical room, and
managed to get through the red tape enough to be given a small table
with a stack of newspapers and magazines.

The mathematics magazines interested him most. He pored through them,
looking for a single hint of the things he had seen. Einstein's work
with gravity stood out, but no real advances had come from it. It was
still a philosophical rather than an actual attack on physics--as
beautiful as a new theology, and about as hard to utilize. He skimmed,
through the pages, but nothing showed. No real advance had been made
since his memory blanked out, except for one paper on variable stars
which was interesting, but unhelpful.

He threw them aside in disgust. He knew that it was useless to look in
other languages. Work couldn't be done without some first stages that
would be reported, and any significant new theory would be picked up
and spread. Science wasn't yet completely under political wraps.

For a second, he stopped as he came to a paper bearing his by-line.
Then he grimaced--it was an old one, just published--his attempt to
find how the phenomena of poltergeists could be fitted into the
conservation of energy, and his final proof that the whole business
was sheer rubbish. It would be nice to be able to get back to a life
where he could fool around with such learned jokes.

The newspapers, beginning with the last day he could remember, were
almost as barren of results. There was the story of the cold war,
without the strange overtones that should be there if any of the major
powers--where all the major scientists would tend to be--had found
some