Under the half-moon and the million stars, down the drive and across the road the lake lay darkly glowing. In the cool silence Woodard heard it lapping its shores like the licking of lips. What did happen to Ward? he thought suddenly. And then he thought, Why don't I--but his keys were in his jacket and his jacket was inside. Now he noticed that Nodus' car had been shifted to stand behind his own. Escape was cut off in any case. He felt a throbbing hollowness, the ache of terror. "I'm being foolish," he said. "I'm going to cut it out." The sound of a human voice, even his own, was oddly reassuring. He would stay just enough longer not to give offense. He would try to make only pleasing responses to Nodus' recital, would act reverential in this shrine to the electronic screech. And when he left, he would point out with the most casual little laugh of well-feigned surprise that his car was cut off--as if it were natural but at the same time comic.... When the garage door stuck, he pulled frantically. After a moment, Nodus opened it from inside. The girl said shrilly "You got locked in the bathroom!" and then shook noiselessly. "You've interrupted the sequence," Nodus stated. "I'm starting with the last two minutes of the mating calls, then running the sneeze again." Woodard nodded contritely. The mating calls heard once, it turned out, were heard for all time. But the sneeze, braced for it though he was, retained its power to shake the inner being. "--defy _anybody_ to recognize this sound," challenged Nodus. It sent a cold tickling vibration through Woodard, from the soles of his feet to his frontal sinus. When it was over (four and one-half seconds), he needed almost a minute to bring his shuddering to a halt. He saw Russ take a pad and pencil from his pocket. He did not react. "A laugh," Nodus gloated. "A human laugh. More precisely, a chuckle. When Marcella Sembrich produced it originally, in her recording of 'Coming Thro' the Rye', the intent was probably coy, but...." In his sharp, sudden rage, Woodard forgot tact and caution. "That's so unfair to a singer! To take her voice in one passage and distort it--_that_ doesn't show what she can do!" "Could do," Nodus corrected coldly. "But it shows what the equipment _can_ do." "I would _never_," Woodard began acidly.... A persistent tickle in his throat was making him cough. His post-nasal drip, he recognized grimly. Nodus glanced at Russ, who was jotting notes. "A few more little effects," he promised, "then the concert." Woodard nodded, coughing viscously into his handkerchief. "Now just to give you some further idea...." Nodus looked reproving. "You have a very annoying cough." "It dries up for weeks," Woodard apologized, "and then...." "I suggest you control it." Nodus turned to the player. "--some further idea, and no surprises this time, a factory whistle." He chuckled. "No timing. I keep this going till I see the whites of your eyes."