It was said--where did one hear these things? Why did one remember them?--that years ago the girl and Mr. Nodus had been in love. That the new era in electronics had alienated Mr. Nodus' affections. Auxiliary priestess now to the monster that had dethroned her, the girl tapped her left wrist with the fingers of her right hand and smiled remotely.... "Four and one-half minutes, as advertised," Nodus said, raising the player arm. "And now, the foreground of mosquitoes. Amplified by--well, no need to be technical. Let's just enjoy it. Two and one-half minutes will do." Quite so. Higher than coloratura, a whirring, a hum. As if all insect life brought out on the lake by the evening damp had swarmed into that room. And back of the keening shrillness, unending in its behemoth anguish was the muffled roar of the falls. Woodard squirmed. But he wouldn't pay Nodus the homage of warding off the insects. Forcing himself rigid, he watched the clock. His thoughts wandered to the lake, dark and deep outside--and to Mr. Ward, imprisoned by cold in the darkest depth. Two and one-half minutes exactly. * * * * * "Amazing," Woodard said. Antagonized by Nodus' pontifical assurance, he added spitefully, "Of course, nothing sounds like that." Nodus shrugged aside the irrelevancy. "Hi-fi does," he said, extracting a second record from its case. "We have many requests for that number. Many. And now--an old-fashioned steam train. If you think it's coming toward you--and jump--please try not to displace your chair." About to laugh, Woodard caught himself. The man was not joking. "We don't," Nodus explained, "want to fasten it to the floor till we're perfectly certain that...." He looked for confirmation to Russ and the girl. Both nodded. "We've timed this one at three and one-half--more precisely," he announced, "three minutes and twenty-eight seconds." * * * * * It was stupendous, terrifying. Woodard himself vibrated as the colossus approached. But not for anything would he have stirred.... Three minutes and twenty-eight seconds it was, Nodus monologuing from behind his hand to Russ, the girl beating a new time. In the shattering silence, Woodard laughed tremulously. "This must be the next thing to shock therapy." The girl tensed. Russ looked wary. "What makes you say that?" Nodus demanded. "Why--I just meant...." Woodard was unnerved. He rarely minded giving offense, but he liked to know when and how he was doing it. "I suppose," he placated, "that atomic fission is more what I had in mind...." Nodus looked at him suspiciously. "There are worse things than atoms," he said. The girl cackled, then looked blankly about as if she hadn't done it. Nodus ignored her. "Not a family man, are you, Woodard?" "No." Woodard took in Nodus' quick nod. Had the admission somehow worsened his situation? "No one to care?" cried the girl, her dark eyes gleaming archly. "No one to miss you?"