Outside the police station, the street was jammed by a silent crowd, a tense, straining, shifting mass of people. Scoop fought his way through them. Inside, the station was alive with reporters, A.P. men, specials, U.P. men, a leg man from every sheet in the city. They were all asking questions. A brawny man, with his uniform coat flung open, was trying to answer them. The phone kept interrupting him. Every time it rang, the room dived into silence. "Madam, I'm sorry. Yes--yes--We'll send a detail right away. You look around the neighborhood yourself. Perhaps she has just gone to the drug store. Yes.... I'm sorry, but I don't know what to tell you. We'll do the best we can." "Another one?" a reporter queried as the phone went back on the hook. The chief of police nodded. The strained silence was broken by the harsh breathing of frightened men. "Lord!" a reporter whispered. "That's seventy-three now. And nobody knows how many may have vanished without being reported!" The phone rang again. The chief of police grabbed it. "Hello ... Oh ... Governor. You're right we want the guard. We want them as fast as we can get them." * * * * * Martin found a reporter he knew, plugged questions at him. "They just go out of sight, that's all," the reporter told him. "How it happens, why it happens, nobody knows, least of all the police. When the first two reports came in, they thought it was a couple of snatches, but they've been scared out of that idea now. There's no rime or reason to it. Youngsters, nineteen, twenty years old; boys, girls, couples. Somebody hears them scream, but by the time anybody gets there, they're gone. God knows where they've gone or what has happened to them. Jack Lecroy, heir to the biggest fortune in this town, is gone. Two Polish factory workers, brothers, were in their room. Their old man went in to ask them something. They weren't there. College girls, shirt factory girls. It doesn't discriminate. Talk about the Pied Piper!--What's that?" Outside the building a voice had begun to screech. "It's the end of the world. The angel Gabriel is blowing his horn and the goats are being separated from the sheep. I'm ready, Lord, I'm ready. Come and take me--" The reporter's face went a shade whiter. "That's another one gone off his nut. But he may be right, for all I know. Where you going?" Scoop Martin was shoving his way toward the desk of the chief of police. In his mind a phrase had clicked. "Chief, I'm Martin, of the _Globe_. Listen to me.... I know you don't want to answer any more questions, but I've got an idea. About a month ago I interviewed a scientist living here in Valley Park, Lee Garth. Did you read the story I wrote? He prophesied the end of the world. Then he got busy and built himself a castle that a regiment of artillery couldn't blast down.... Listen, maybe he knows more about this than he told."