"... are doing all they can, which doesn't seem much," Bill Bart was saying breathlessly. "He was last seen speeding uptown on the Westshore Drive, but the cops lost him. The town is gripped in superstitious fear--it is now known that Graham was responsible for the elevators jamming in the I.T.V. Building this morning--but how did he do it? I ask you: how? And how has he turned off all the electric power in Greenwich Village? I contacted the power company for an explanation, but I was put off with the usual doubletalk. I say, and I repeat, _this man must be caught_! He is...." I turned him off. So that was what the street light going off had meant. In a little while, Molly came back. "All right, duck, come and be measured. He's got galvanometers and electronic devices and stuff, and he'll be able to detect anything you're emanating down to a milli-micro-whisker." I followed her into the lab where I was sat down, taped up and surrounded with gadgets. McGill tried various things and read various dials. There were buzzing sounds and little lights blinked on and off, but at the end he shook his head. "Nothing," he announced, "You're married to a non-ferrous, non-conducting, non-emanating, non-magnetic writer, Molly." "He is, too!" she said. "He's as magnetic as the dickens." "Possibly, but he isn't emanating anything. The damn thing apparently just likes him. As a nucleus, I mean." "Is that bad?" Molly asked. "Could it be dangerous?" "It's bad," I put in morosely. "Also it could be good," McGill said, with a gleam of scientific enthusiasm, "Why, it wouldn't surprise me, Alec, if you could do anything you wanted to that involved chance." * * * * * I didn't like the guinea-pigs'-eye view of him I got, and told him so. "Except for a couple of minor escapes, it's been highly inconvenient," I said. "I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I wish it would go and help somebody else." "But, my God, man! Do you realize if you went to the track tomorrow, your horse probably couldn't lose?" "I wouldn't get that far," I grumbled. "And I bet if somebody threw a knife at you, it would miss!" McGill went on, ignoring me. "Here, I'd like to try an experiment...." "Now, hold on!" I said. "_McGill!_ Are you _crazy_?" Molly cried, but he ignored her also and opened his desk drawer, from which he took a pair of dice. "Roll me some sevens, Alec," he said, handing them to me. "I thought we came here for a conference," I protested. "And I don't know whether you know about it, but there's been a Village-wide electric power failure and I'm being blamed, according to Bill Bart." "Holy cow! When did you hear that?" "On your radio just now. Furthermore, he says the whole town is gripped in 'superstitious terror.'" "That could be true," McGill answered. "Most people haven't progressed beyond the Dark Ages. Look what happened with Orson Welles' broadcast about the Martians."