ng, Burckhardt
pressed it and the lights sprang up in both halls.

* * * * *

Mary, looking pale and worried, left him to go down to the kitchen and
start breakfast. Burckhardt stood staring at the switch for a long
time. His mental processes were gone beyond the point of disbelief and
shock; they simply were not functioning.

He shaved and dressed and ate his breakfast in a state of numb
introspection. Mary didn't disturb him; she was apprehensive and
soothing. She kissed him good-by as he hurried out to the bus without
another word.

Miss Mitkin, at the reception desk, greeted him with a yawn.
"Morning," she said drowsily. "Mr. Barth won't be in today."

Burckhardt started to say something, but checked himself. She would
not know that Barth hadn't been in yesterday, either, because she was
tearing a June 14th pad off her calendar to make way for the "new"
June 15th sheet.

He staggered to his own desk and stared unseeingly at the morning's
mail. It had not even been opened yet, but he knew that the Factory
Distributors envelope contained an order for twenty thousand feet of
the new acoustic tile, and the one from Finebeck & Sons was a
complaint.

After a long while, he forced himself to open them. They were.

By lunchtime, driven by a desperate sense of urgency, Burckhardt made Miss
Mitkin take her lunch hour first--the June-fifteenth-that-was-yesterday,
_he_ had gone first. She went, looking vaguely worried about his strained
insistence, but it made no difference to Burckhardt's mood.

The phone rang and Burckhardt picked it up abstractedly. "Contro
Chemicals Downtown, Burckhardt speaking."

The voice said, "This is Swanson," and stopped.

Burckhardt waited expectantly, but that was all. He said, "Hello?"

Again the pause. Then Swanson asked in sad resignation, "Still
nothing, eh?"

"Nothing what? Swanson, is there something you want? You came up to me
yesterday and went through this routine. You--"

The voice crackled: "Burckhardt! Oh, my good heavens, _you remember_!
Stay right there--I'll be down in half an hour!"

"What's this all about?"

"Never mind," the little man said exultantly. "Tell you about it when
I see you. Don't say any more over the phone--somebody may be
listening. Just wait there. Say, hold on a minute. Will you be alone
in the office?"

"Well, no. Miss Mitkin will probably--"

"Hell. Look, Burckhardt, where do you eat lunch? Is it good and
n