had gotten his pen out of his pocket and was signingthe commitment form with one hand; with the other, he pressed a buttonon the desk. A door at the rear opened, and a large young man in awhite jacket entered.
"You'll have to go away for a while, Professor," Hauserman was tellinghim, much later, after he had allowed himself to become calm again."For how long, I don't know. Maybe a year or so."
"You mean to Northern State Mental?"
"Well.... Yes, Professor. You've had a bad crack-up. I don't supposeyou realize how bad. You've been working too hard; harder than yournervous system could stand. It's been too much for you."
"You mean, I'm nuts?"
"Please, Professor. I deplore that sort of terminology. You've had asevere psychological breakdown...."
"Will I be able to have books, and papers, and work a little? Icouldn't bear the prospect of complete idleness."
"That would be all right, if you didn't work too hard."
"And could I say good-bye to some of my friends?"
Hauserman nodded and asked, "Who?"
"Well, Professor Pottgeiter...."
"He's outside now. He was inquiring about you."
"And Stanly Weill, my attorney. Not business; just to say good-bye."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Professor. He's not in town, now. He left almostimmediately after.... After...."
"After he found out I was crazy for sure? Where'd he go?"
"To Reno; he took the plane at five o'clock."
Weill wouldn't have believed, anyhow; no use trying to blame himselffor that. But he was as sure that he would never see Stanly Weillalive again as he was that the next morning the sun would rise. Henodded impassively.
"Sorry he couldn't stay. Can I see Max Pottgeiter alone?"
"Yes, of course, Professor."
Old Pottgeiter came in, his face anguished. "Ed! It isn't true," hestammered. "I won't believe that it's true."
"What, Max?"
"That you're crazy. Nobody can make me believe that."
He put his hand on the old man's shoulder. "Confidentially, Max,neither do I. But don't tell anybody I'm not. It's a secret."
Pottgeiter looked troubled. For a moment, he seemed to be wondering ifhe mightn't be wrong and Hauserman and Whitburn and the others right.
"Max, do you believe in me?" he asked. "Do you believe that I knewabout Khalid's assassination a month before it happened?"
"It's a horribly hard thing to believe," Pottgeiter admitted. "But,dammit, Ed, you did! I know, medieval history is full of storiesabout prophecies being fulfilled. I always thought those stories werejust legends that grew up after the event. And, of course, he's abouta century late for me, but there was Nostradamus. Maybe those oldprophecies weren't just _ex post facto_ legends, after all. Yes. AfterKhalid, I'll believe that."
"All right. I'm saying, now, that in a few days there'll be a badexplosion at Reno, Nevada. Watch the papers and the telecast for it.If it happens, that ought to prove it. And you remember what I toldyou about the Turks annexing Syria and Lebanon?" The old man nodded."When that happens, get away from Blanley. Come up to the town whereNorthern State Mental Hospital is, and get yourself a place to live,and stay there. And try to bring Marjorie Fenner along with you. Willyou do that, Max?"
"If you say so." His eyes widened. "Something bad's going to happenhere?"
"Yes, Max. Something very bad. You promise me you will?"
"Of course, Ed. You know, you're the only friend I have around here.You and Marjorie. I'll come, and bring her along."
"Here's the key to my apartment." He got it from his pocket and gaveit to Pottgeiter, with instructions. "Everything in the filing cabineton the left of my desk. And don't let anybody else see any of it. Keepit safe for me."
The large young man in the white coat entered.
THE END
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