The ball did not lift again, did not move, did not stir or struggle. Like a huge stratosphere balloon made out of some strange metal, it rested there, unmoving. Animals ranged through the night. In the darkness lonely dogs howled for lost masters. There was never an answer to the howling of the dogs. * * * * * Scoop Martin's index fingers moved so rapidly they almost blurred. He only used two fingers on the keyboard. Two were all he needed. The typewriter carriage almost ran over itself getting across the paper. It stopped abruptly and Martin read his lead. "Secrecy shrouds new scientific development at Valley Park, where Lee Garth, the world's outstanding physicist, has a large crew at work on the construction of a large steel and concrete--" Martin swore at himself, ripped the paper out of the typewriter. What a hell of a lead for a story. It didn't tell anything. Vague, ambiguous. But where in the hell could he start this story? He remembered that steam shovel, ripping the earth down to bed rock. Gangs of men, drilling into the rock and driving reinforcing steel into it. Other gangs setting up forms for the concrete that was to come. A concrete tower going up, a huge mixer being blocked into position, lines of trucks dumping gravel and cement. Floodlights overhead so when night came the work could go on. Twenty-four hour a day schedule. Over the whole job the sense of desperate urgency. Martin tried to think what that urgency might be. That would be his lead. A darned good one too. But he couldn't figure it out. All he could say was that out at Valley Park men were tumbling over each other getting done a job of work. They didn't walk. They ran. If a worker gave out, he stepped back out of place, and a fresh man took over his job while he rested. It was costing a fortune. That didn't matter much. Lee Garth had a fortune. He was spending it. Martin thought of Lee Garth. In getting in he had practically forced himself past an overworked secretary. Once in, he had found Garth in front of a desk covered with papers. Garth was not a big man, not an impressive-looking man. You had to think twice to realize the reputation he had won for himself. Pale blue eyes and thin black hair. He looked like a dreamer, or a poet. Not very efficient. Or so he looked. "Mr. Garth, I'm Martin of the _Globe_. We would like to have a story about you and about the construction work going on out here. What are you building? A new observatory, a laboratory, a workshop, or what?" Scoop had smiled in his most winning manner. He had a nose for news and a way of getting it. Garth blinked at him. He seemed to withdraw his mind from a vast distance to meet the problem presented by the newspaper man. He hesitated. When he spoke, he gave a hint of the man he was. "Sorry, but I am not interested in publicity." "Not interested in publicity!" Martin found that hard to believe, even from Lee Garth.