Tom Watkins awoke slowly. He had a cramp in one arm from sleeping on it, but otherwise he was conscious of a comfortable, healthy feeling, which told him he'd slept well and long. He stretched and brushed a few pieces of straw from his face. Straw? He suddenly remembered sitting down on their platform, very sleepy and worried because of the abruptness of it. He sat up. Summersby had just stood, yawning. "Did you carry me in here?" he asked the big man. "I was going to ask you that." "Christ! What happened?" He was wholly awake now. "Did you drop off out in the lab?" "Yeah." "So'd I," said Adam. He was sitting next to the Mexican, whom he now pushed gently. "You okay, Porfirio?" Villa erupted with a grunt. The Fulls were looking at each other owlishly. And then it hit him. Watkins twisted, cased the floor, and saw nothing but straw and fountain and tree trunks. He was literally staggered, and nearly lost his balance. His briefcase was gone! He stared about wildly, panic lifting in him like a swift debilitating disease. Then he took four fast steps and grabbed Summersby by the coat. It was queer, but he didn't even think of anyone else having taken it. Summersby towered over him, but he could be brought down. "Okay, you skyscraper," said Watkins, "where'd you put it?" "Put what?" "My case! Where is it?" "I never touched your damned case." Well, Watkins could smell honesty, and here it was. That startled amazement was genuine. He glared at Adam Pierce, Villa, the Fulls. Not that last pair, surely! As rock-ribbed and staunchly honest as their New England coasts, and about as imaginative. Not the colored boy, either, a good kid; and he didn't think it was Villa. "We must have been carried in here by the scientists," said Adam rationally. "Maybe they left it outside." That was logical. But he'd had a death-grip on the handle when he fell asleep, just as he always did. He looked at them all again. He went from wall to wall, kicking the straw. Then he scowled at the sand box, the only place a thing that size could be stashed away. He was suddenly on his knees, tossing sand left and right. Avoiding certain places, he checked the pile. Nothing! Not a scrap of leather or a piece of green paper! "If you are through," said Villa heavily, "I wish to use the box." "Go ahead, Viva." Watkins walked across the room, groping for a cigarette, then remembering he had none left. "What happened out there?" he asked loudly. "Were we doped? Something in the chickens?" "We were awake for a long time after we ate," said Adam. "Not even these people could make a drug act on six of us in the same minute, after that long; too many differences in metabolism. If that's the word I want." "They weren't even in the room when we dropped off," said Mrs. Full. * * * * *