her senses.

"Coincidence," I said. "Nothing more. I've seen seventeen cases just
like his. How else did I spot him? I recognized the type. None of the
others found what they rationalized themselves into thinking they
remembered from the time they were Martians. Eventually one of them
would stumble onto something. That's coincidence. Not incarnated
memory."

She turned her head and blinked at me. I nodded grimly. "I'm an agent,"
I said. "I go out on the tours for one purpose only--to spot psychos and
make sure they don't get out of control. You'd be surprised how many
there are. Some of them, like your husband, probably show no sign of
instability until they get here. They look around at the evidence of a
civilization that existed before _homo sapiens_ had evolved on the
Earth, and it throws them. If you want to understand more about it read
the medical books. They get irrational pre-memories. They look at
something and the idea of familiarity associates with the new
impression. They look around a corner and see something, and build up
the conviction that they had consciously known what was there before
they looked around the corner."

I felt that I was making headway with her. I wanted to. I had to.

"You--you say there were others, and they didn't find anything?" she
said. She was groping for something logical to grasp. I had to give her
that something.

"That's right," I said. "And the law of averages said that someday
someone would uncover something that's been missed."

She was nodding slowly now, accepting what I was saying. It was
authoritative. She would find confirmation in authoritative books. If
she wanted to pursue the subject she would find plenty of evidence, real
evidence, to support it. It is a common form of insanity. It was
important that she believe that.

We reached the road. C.I. had been prepared. There was a car to take her
back to the hotel, a stationwagon for Herb who was now very submissive
and somewhat dazed, and a third car for me and my precious cargo.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later I was in the Science Building basement, laying the
thing on a wooden table, very gently. It seemed solid, each integral
part of its form being of a different metal.

None of the men watching me lay it down discounted the danger it
contained. They knew too much about how shape and dimension can affect
the electronic properties of metal. They knew the thing probably didn't