That was enough for Carroll. He sought Dr. Pollard and told him the story. Pollard looked up with pleasure. James Carroll's acceptance of such a problem and the attempt to figure it out was an excellent sign. He could give no answer, of course until ... "Then come along," said Carroll. "We've time." They went silently. Carroll pointed out the black car as it approached the curb and then took Pollard into the store to meet Sally. She greeted them pleasantly and did not demur when they left precipitately because she knew that Dr. Pollard was trying to help Mr. Carroll out of his difficulty. Carroll showed Sally's return from the black car, and the subsequent delivery of the box of papers to the typing bureau. "Carroll," said the psychologist sadly, "forget it!" "Forget it?" demanded Carroll. "I saw no black car. You claim that Sally walked to the corner, turned away and entered a black sedan. Actually--though I said nothing--Sally crossed the street and entered the store. As we finished there and left she followed us, passed us on the sidewalk and delivered her package. This is merely a delusion, James." "Delusion?" said Carroll doubtfully. "Am I--Am I...? "I plead with you, James. Let me give you psychiatric help? Please?" Carroll considered. Delusion--he must be going mad. "I'll be in to see you tomorrow," he said. Pollard took a deep breath. "Thank God!" he said. James Carroll returned home in a dither. Regardless of the pain of--whatever it was--he was going to go through with this. Delusions and hallucinations of that vividness should not be. He must be in a severe mental state. He hadn't believed them when they told him that he had been a brilliant physicist. But this well-proven hallucination was final. And before he got worse.... James Carroll was in a state over his state by the time he opened his front door. He entered the room, looking idly about him, half in fear of what he might see next. What he saw was the sheet of paper with the report on it. Could you feel an hallucination? Could you read an hallucination? How could a man with five nominal senses, all run by one brain, reach any decision? He pressed the button on his wall and the housekeeper entered. "Mrs. Bagby, I am in a slight mental turmoil. Please trust me to the extent of asking no questions but I beg of you to tell me exactly what I will be doing for the next few minutes?" "I'll try," she said, knowing from Dr. Pollard all about Mr. Carroll's state of mind. She was willing to help. "You are sitting at your desk, reading a sheet of paper upon which are some handwritten notes and a sketch. Now you are rising. You have just torn off an inch from the bottom of the page--where there is no writing. You are lighting a match, touching it to the end of the paper. It burns.