nd Whitburn, and Fitch, it could go on forever....

It was fully dark, now; his shadow fell ahead of him on the sidewalk,
lengthening as he passed under and beyond a street-light, vanishing as
he entered the stronger light of the one ahead. The windows of a cheap
cafe reminded him that he was hungry, and he entered, going to a table
and ordering something absently. There was a television screen over
the combination bar and lunch-counter. Some kind of a comedy
programme, at which an invisible studio-audience was laughing
immoderately and without apparent cause. The roughly dressed customers
along the counter didn't seem to see any more humor in it than he did.
Then his food arrived on the table and he began to eat without really
tasting it.

After a while, an alteration in the noises from the television
penetrated his consciousness; a news-program had come on, and he
raised his head. The screen showed a square in an Eastern city; the
voice was saying:

"... Basra, where Khalid ib'n Hussein was assassinated early this
morning--early afternoon, local time. This is the scene of the crime;
the body of the murderer has been removed, but you can still see the
stones with which he was pelted to death by the mob...."

A close-up of the square, still littered with torn-up paving-stones. A
Caliphate army officer, displaying the weapon--it was an old M3, all
right; Chalmers had used one of those things, himself, thirty years
before, and he and his contemporaries had called it a "grease-gun."
There were some recent pictures of Khalid, including one taken as he
left the plane on his return from Ankara. He watched, absorbed; it
was all exactly as he had "remembered" a month ago. It gratified him
to see that his future "memories" were reliable in detail as well as
generality.

"But the most amazing part of the story comes, not from Basra, but
from Blanley College, in California," the commentator was saying,
"where, it is revealed, the murder of Khalid was foretold, with
uncanny accuracy, a month ago, by a history professor, Doctor Edward
Chalmers...."

There was a picture of himself, in hat and overcoat, perfectly
motionless, as though a brief moving glimpse were being prolonged. A
glance at the background told him when and where it had been taken--a
year and a half ago, at a convention at Harvard. These telecast people
must save up every inch of old news-film they ever took. There were
views of Blanley campus, and interviews w