Samwitz was nowhere in sight; the crowd had thinned a good deal, but all of the eight, thank heaven, were still there--MacKean sitting groggily on a stranger's lap, Werner Kley nursing a bloody nose, Tom Q., camera still dangling from his neck, crawling carefully on hands and knees toward the door.... He reached it and disappeared. An instant later, we heard a full chorus of feminine screams from the lobby, and then the sound of an enormous J. Arthur Rank-type gong. Ray and I looked at each other with a wild surmise. "_Tom_ lives in Queens!" he said. I scrambled down off the piano and the platform, but Ray was quicker. He darted into the crowd, using his elbows in short, efficient jabs. By the time I got to the door he was nowhere in sight. The lobby was full of large powdery women in flowered dresses, one of them still shrieking. They slowed me down, and so did tripping over one of those big cylindrical jardinieres full of sand and snipes. I reached the street just in time to see Ray closing the door of a cab. I hadn't the wind to shout. I saw his cheerful face and Tom's in the small yellow glow of the cab light; I saw Tom Q. raise the camera, and Ray put out his hand to it. Then the cab pulled away into traffic, and I watched its beady red tail lights down the avenue until they winked out of sight. * * * * * Some time later, walking down the cold morning street, I discovered there was somebody with me, keeping step, not saying anything. It was Harry Er-Ah. He saw I had noticed him. "Some party," he remarked. I said yeah. "That was pretty funny, what happened in the lobby." "I didn't see it." "He came tearing through there on all fours. Right into the middle of all those women. They probably thought he was a mad dog or something." I took two more steps, and stopped, and looked at him. "That was _all_ he did?" I said. "Sure." "Well, then," I said with mounting exasperation, "in the name of--Oh. Wait a minute. You're wrong," I told him, calming down again. "There was the gong. He made that gong noise." "Did he?" said Harry. One nervous hand went up and adjusted the hornrims. I felt a little tugging at my shirt front, and looked down to see my necktie slithering out. I swatted at it instinctively, but it ducked away and hovered, swaying like a cobra. Then it dropped. He showed me his open hand, and there was a wire running up out of his sleeve, with a clip on the end of it. For the first time, I noticed two rings of metal wired behind the lens frames of his eyeglasses. He pulled his other hand out of his pocket, and there was a little haywire rig in its batteries and a couple of tubes and three tuning knobs.