The period-bell was ringing as he left Whitburn's office; that meant that the twenty-three students were scattering over the campus, talking like mad. He shrugged. Keeping them quiet about a thing like this wouldn't have been possible in any case. When he entered his office, Stanly Weill was waiting for him. The lawyer drew him out into the hallway quickly. "For God's sake, have you been talking to the papers?" he demanded. "After what I told you...." "No, but somebody has." He told about the call to Whitburn's office, and the latter's behavior. Weill cursed the college president bitterly. "Any time you want to get a story in the _Valley Times_, just order Frank Tighlman not to print it. Well, if you haven't talked, don't." "Suppose somebody asks me?" "A reporter, no comment. Anybody else, none of his damn business. And above all, don't let anybody finagle you into making any claims about knowing the future. I thought we had this under control; now that it's out in the open, what that fool Whitburn'll do is anybody's guess." Leonard Fitch met him as he entered the Faculty Club, sizzling with excitement. "Ed, this has done it!" he began, jubilantly. "This is one nobody can laugh off. It's direct proof of precognition, and because of the prominence of the event, everybody will hear about it. And it simply can't be dismissed as coincidence...." "Whitburn's trying to do that." "Whitburn's a fool if he is," another man said calmly. Turning, he saw that the speaker was Tom Smith, one of the math professors. "I figured the odds against that being chance. There are a lot of variables that might affect it one way or another, but ten to the fifteenth power is what I get for a sort of median figure." "Did you give that story to the _Valley Times?_" he asked Fitch, suspicion rising and dragging anger up after it. "Of course, I did," Fitch said. "I'll admit, I had to go behind your back and have some of my postgrads get statements from the boys in your history class, but you wouldn't talk about it yourself...." Tom Smith was standing beside him. He was twenty years younger than Chalmers, he was an amateur boxer, and he had good reflexes. He caught Chalmers' arm as it was traveling back for an uppercut, and held it. "Take it easy, Ed; you don't want to start a slugfest in here. This is the Faculty Club; remember?" "I won't, Tom; it wouldn't prove anything if I did." He turned to Fitch. "I won't talk about sending your students to pump mine, but at least you could have told me before you gave that story out."