“You took no sedative, Doctor,” Morrissey said. “I don’t need one. The anesthetic will be enough.” The nurses moved with silent competence about the table. The emergency oxygen apparatus was tested. The adrenalin was checked; the sterilizer steamed on its table. Bruno emptied his mind and relaxed as a nurse swabbed his arm with alcohol. Superimposure of the electronic mental matrix of sanity ... psychic rapport ... the pattern of his sanity-dampers would be fixed unalterably in the twisted, warped mind of the manic-depressive. He felt the sting of the needle. Automatically he began counting. One. Two. Three.... He opened his eyes. The face of Morrissey, intent and abstracted, hung over him. Beyond Morrissey was the bright ceiling fluorescent, glaring down with a brilliance that made Bruno blink. His arm stung slightly but otherwise there were no after effects. “Can you hear me, Doctor?” Morrissey said. Bruno nodded. “Yes. I’m awake now.” His tongue was a little thick. That was natural. “Gregson?” But Morrissey’s face was growing smaller. No, it was receding. The ceiling light shrank. _He was falling_— He shot down with blinding rapidity. White walls rushed up past him. Morrissey’s face receded to a shining dot far above. It grew darker as he fell. Winds screamed, and there was a slow, gradually increasing thundering like an echo resounding from the floor of this monstrous abyss. Down and down, faster and faster, with the white walls fading to gray and to black, till he was blind, till he was deafened with that roaring echo. Visibility returned. Everything was out of focus. He blinked, swallowed, and made out the rectangular shape of a bedside screen. There was something else, white and irregular. “Are you awake, Doctor?” “Hello, Harwood,” Bruno said to the nurse. “How long have I been out?” “About two hours. I’ll call Dr. Morrissey.” She stepped out of the room. Bruno flexed his muscles experimentally. He felt all right. Not even a headache. His vision was normal now. He instinctively reached for his wrist and began counting the pulse. Through the window he could see the slow motion of a branch, the leaves fluttering in a gentle wind. Footsteps sounded. “Congratulations,” Morrissey said, coming to the bed. “Gregson’s in shock, but he’s already beginning to come out of it. No prognosis yet, but I’ll bet a cookie you’ve done it.” Bruno let out his breath in a long sigh. “You think so?” Morrissey laughed. “Don’t tell me you weren’t sure!” “I’m always sure,” Bruno said. “Just the same, confirmation’s always pleasant. I’m thirsty as the devil. Get me some ice, Ken, will you?” “All right.” Morrissey leaned out of the door and called the nurse. Then he came back and lowered the Venetian blind. “Sun in your eyes. That better? How do you feel, or need I ask?” “Quite normal. No ill effects at all. Say, you’d better notify Barbara I’m alive.” “I already have. She’s coming over. Meanwhile, Parsons is outside. Want to see him?”