r out of a rubber bulb attached to a ten-cent
party horn taped to his thigh.

Then there was nothing. Apparently his guides had made a tentative
appearance and were, understandably, completely intimidated by Old Stone
Face. We sat for another five minutes.

"Harrumph!" Henry cleared his throat again, this time louder and more
commanding.

"That is all," the Swami said in a faint, exhausted voice. "I have
returned to you on your material plane."

* * * * *

The handholding broke up in the way bits of metal, suddenly charged
positive and negative, would fly apart. I leaned back again and snapped
on the white lights. We all sat there a few seconds, blinking in what
seemed a sudden glare.

The Swami sat with his chin dropped down to his chest. Then he raised
stricken, liquid eyes.

"Oh, now I remember where I am," he said. "What happened? I never know."

Old Stone Face threw him a look of withering scorn. He picked up one of
the cylinders and hefted it in the palm of his hand. It did not fly
upward to bang against the ceiling. It weighed about what it ought to
weigh. He tossed the cylinder contemptuously, back into the pile,
scattering them over the table. He pushed back his chair, got to his
feet, and stalked out of the room without looking at any of us.

The Swami made a determined effort to recapture the spotlight.

"I'm afraid I must have help to walk to the car," he whispered. "I am
completely exhausted. Ah, this work takes so much out of me. Why do I go
on with it? Why? Why? Why?"

He drooped in his chair, then made a valiantly brave effort to rise
under his own power when he felt the lieutenant's hands lifting him up.
He was leaning heavily on the lieutenant as they went out the door.

Sara looked at me dubiously.

"Will there be anything else?" she asked. Her tone suggested that since
nothing had been accomplished, perhaps we should get some work out
before she left.

"No, Sara," I answered. "Good night. See you in the morning."

She nodded and went out the door.

Apparently none of them had seen what I saw. I wondered if Auerbach had.
He was a trained observer. He was standing beside the table looking down
at the cylinders. He reached over and poked at one of them with his
forefinger. He was pushing it back and forth. It gave him no resistance
beyond normal inertia. He pushed it a little farther out of parallel
with true North. It did not try to swing back.

So h