"Take the horse back to his farm," the officer holding Harry said. He opened the door of the little car and pushed Harry inside. He went around to the driver's side and got behind the wheel and drove away. Harry looked back. Pete was leading Plum after them; not riding him, walking him. "He sure must like horses," he said. "Yes." "Am I going to jail?" "No." "Where then?" "The doctor's place." They stopped in front of the new house two miles past Dugan's farm. Except he'd never seen it before. Or had he? Everyone seemed to know about it--or was everyone only Edna and the Shanks? He got out of the car. The officer took his arm and led him up the path. Harry noticed that the new house was big. When they came inside, he knew it wasn't like any house he'd ever seen or heard of. There was this long central passageway, and dozens of doors branched off it on both sides, and stairways went down from it in at least three places that he could see, and at the far end--a good two hundred yards away--a big ramp led upward. And it was all gray plaster walls and dull black floors and cold white lighting, like a hospital, or a modern factory, or maybe a government building. Except that he didn't see or hear people. He did hear _something_; a low, rumbling noise. The further they came along the hall, the louder the rumbling grew. It seemed to be deep down somewhere. * * * * * They went through one of the doors on the right, into a windowless room. A thin little man with bald head and frameless glasses was there, putting on a white coat. His veiny hands shook. He looked a hundred years old. "Where's Petey?" he asked. "Pete's all right, Dad. Just leading a horse back to Burr's farm." The old man sighed. "I didn't know what form it would take. I expected one or two cases, but I couldn't predict whether it would be gradual or sudden, whether or not it would lead to violence." "No violence, Dad." "Fine, Stan." He looked at Harry. "I'm going to give you a little treatment, Mr. Burr. It'll settle your nerves and make everything...." "What happened to Davie?" Harry asked, things pushing at his brain again. Stan helped him up. "Just step this way, Mr. Burr." He didn't resist. He went through the second door into the room with the big chair. He sat down and let them strap his arms and legs and let them lower the metal thing over his head. He felt needles pierce his scalp and the back of his neck. He let them do what they wanted; he would let them kill him if they wanted. All he asked was one answer so as to know whether or not he was insane. "What happened to my son Davie?" The old man walked across the room and examined what looked like the insides of a dozen big radios. He turned, his hand on a switch. "Please," Harry whispered. "Just tell me about my son."