hat I thought, but I was worried. He had a lot of
funny-looking things there, and his hand was stretching out toward one
of them.

But then he said, "Old Virgie."

"That's me," I said eagerly.

"I owe you an apology," he went on.

"You do?"

He nodded. "I'd forgotten," he confessed, ashamed. "I didn't remember
until just this minute that you were the one I talked to in my senior
year. My only confidant. And you've kept my secret all this time."

I coughed. "It was nothing," I said largely. "Don't give it a
thought."

He nodded in appreciation. "That's just like you," he reminisced. "Ten
years, eh? And you haven't breathed a word, have you?"

"Not a word," I assured him. And it was no more than the truth. I
hadn't said a word to anybody. I hadn't even said a word to myself.
The fact of the matter was, I had completely forgotten what he was
talking about. Kept his secret? I didn't even _remember_ his secret.
And it was driving me nuts!

"I was sure of you," he said, suddenly thawing. "I knew I could trust
you. I must have--otherwise I certainly wouldn't have told you, would
I?"

I smiled modestly. But inside I was fiercely cudgeling my brain.

He said suddenly, "All right, Virgie. You're entitled to something for
having kept faith. I tell you what I'll do--I'll let you in on what
I'm doing here."

All at once, the little muscles at the back of my neck began to tense
up.

He would do _what_? "Let me in" on something? It was an unpleasantly
familiar phrase. I had used it myself all too often.

"To begin with," said the Greek, focusing attentively on me, "you
wonder, perhaps, what I was doing when you came in."

"I do," I said.

He hesitated. "Certain--particles, which are of importance to my
research, have a tendency to go free. I can keep them under a measure
of control only by means of electrostatic forces, generated in this."
He waved the thing that looked like a toaster on a stick. "And as for
what they do--well, watch."

* * * * *

El Greco began to putter with gleamy, glassy gadgets on one of the
tables and I watched him with, I admit, a certain amount of suspicion.

"What are you doing, Greek?" I asked pretty bluntly.

He looked up. Surprisingly, I saw that the suspicion was mutual; he
frowned and hesitated. Then he shook his head.

"No," he said. "For a minute I--but I can trust you, can't I? The man
who kept my secret for ten long years."

"Of course," I