That was how I heard of the night's happenings. When he saw that his remark puzzled me, he related the news while I was setting things up for our conference. We were in the back room, which had once been the bar--the front section, formerly the restaurant, had had windows all around, which now formed an unbroken gap with a chill wind whistling through it. The place was stripped bare of its former fixtures, but some unsung fisherman had provided the old barroom with a rickety table and several pressed-board boxes to sit on. I had a Coleman radiant heat lantern which I swung from a ceiling wire hook, a plastic sheet which I threw across the table, and a couple of patio chair cushions for the boxes. It took some shifting about to get everything out of the way of several roof leaks, and I had to choose a sturdy box for myself, first testing a few. * * * * * I can well imagine the thoughts and emotions struggling through Dr. Whitney's mind then, but he showed none of them. It was I, rather, with my clumsy movements, the pauses to polish my glasses, the lump I kept trying to swallow, who took so long to face up to it. But finally we were ready. I took out my notebook and opened it upon the table before me. Whitney's frosty eyebrows raised. Then he quietly reached inside his own topcoat, produced his notebook and pen, and laid the notebook open before him. It was a gesture of an almost-forgotten past, but a habit neither of us had ever abandoned. Something about it--the reminder of countless AEC conferences we had both attended--had a steadying effect on me. I placed my pistol in the center of the table. The guinea pigs' cage was on the floor before us. I told what I had to tell. Then I went to the cage, removed one of the animals and tucked it into my pocket. Returning to the table, I picked up the pistol and fired at the cage. The shrill E flat note pierced the rushing sound of the rain. Whitney rose and went to the cage. Gently removing the little creature, he felt it a moment, then nodded. "Asleep," he said, and replaced it in the cage. Looking over my notes, I see that considerable space would be required to cover the entire interrogation which followed. Also, I see that I failed to note down the almost gradual change in my old friend's demeanor--from his calm, quiet manner at first to the keen-eyed excitement of his flushed features, his rapid-fire questions at the end. I shall, instead, give some examples of that discussion. "The guinea pigs sleep for only a half-hour? Always a half-hour?" "Yes. It never varies much. A minute or so each way." "If you--uh--shoot one, then shoot it again, does that prolong its sleep any?" "Not at all! Still only a half-hour, no matter how many times you shoot them while they sleep." "Ummm. That could indicate sleep is the brain's defense mechanism against the effects of your ray. A successful defense, it would seem. They show _no_ after-effects of this?"