"I know something about hypnotism, Colin. It won't do anything like what you think happened to those girls." Fraser got out his pipe and fumbled tobacco into it. "I think," he said, "I'm going to call on Dr. Robert Kennedy myself." "Take it easy, boy," said Martinez. "You been reading too many weird stories; you'll just get tossed out on your can." Fraser tried to smile. It was hard--Judy wouldn't answer his calls and letters any more. "Well," he said, "it'll be in a worthy cause." * * * * * The elevator let him out on the nineteenth floor. It held four big suites, with the corridor running between them. He studied the frosted-glass doors. On one side was the Eagle Publishing Company and Frank & Dayles, Brokers. On the other was the Messenger Advertising Service, and Sentiment, Inc. He entered their door and stood in a quiet, oak-paneled reception room. Behind the railing were a couple of desks, a young woman working at each, and two burly men who sat boredly reading magazines. The pretty girl, obviously the receptionist, looked up as Fraser approached and gave him a professional smile. "Yes, sir?" she asked. "I'd like to see Dr. Kennedy, please," he said, trying hard to be casual. "Do you have an appointment, sir?" "No, but it's urgent." "I'm sorry, sir; Dr. Kennedy is very busy. He can't see anybody except his regular patients and research subjects." "Look, take him in this note, will you? Thanks." Fraser sat uneasily for some minutes, wondering if he'd worded the note correctly. _I must see you about Miss Judy Harkness._ _Important._ Well, what the devil else could you say? The receptionist came out again. "Dr. Kennedy can spare you a few minutes, sir," she said. "Go right on in." "Thanks." Fraser slouched toward the inner door. The two men lowered their magazines to follow him with watchful eyes. There was a big, handsomely-furnished office inside, with a door beyond that must lead to the laboratory. Kennedy looked up from some papers and rose, holding out his hand. He was a medium-sized man, rather plump, graying hair brushed thickly back from a broad, heavy face behind rimless glasses. "Yes?" His voice was low and pleasant. "What can I do for you?" "My name's Fraser." The visitor sat down and accepted a cigarette. Best to act urbanely. "I know Miss Harkness well. I understand you made some encephalographic studies of her." "Indeed?" Kennedy looked annoyed, and Fraser recalled that Judy had been asked not to tell anyone. "I'm not sure; I would have to consult my records first." He wasn't admitting anything, thought Fraser. "Look," said the engineer, "there's been a marked change in Miss Harkness recently. I know enough psychology to be certain that such changes don't happen overnight without cause. I wanted to consult you." "I'm not her psychiatrist," said Kennedy coldly. "Now if you will excuse me, I really have a lot to do--"