"I saw, all right. I saw that Herman had become his inventor's obsession in a very real sense. I felt sorry for him but I had known enough inventors to understand what had happened. They work so much alone they're apt to over-emphasize the importance of their work. The same thing holds true for authors and composers, I suppose. They lose perspective--it's little more than that. "And my friend Maugham seemed to have lost his." * * * * * Maugham was relieved at Harrigan's going. He sat for a few moments after the door had closed behind the reporter. But in a moment his relief gave way before an attitude of listening. Was there movement? Did he hear shuffling footsteps? Or was it again his imagination? He walked across to the door through which Herman had disappeared. There he stood for a moment more, listening. He was undeniably nervous. He wondered whether Harrigan had seen or not. In final analysis perhaps it made no difference. He opened the door. Herman stood there, immobile. For a ludicrous moment Maugham thought that his robot had been listening at the door even as he himself had been. But of course that was impossible. If only he could remember what he had done to Herman the last time he had worked on the complicated and delicate mechanism of the robot! He was convinced that something had happened, something which had given Herman considerably more animation than had been either planned or foreseen. There was of course one solution, though he hesitated to resort to it since it involved undoing everything he had done. He could take Herman apart again and find out just how he functioned so well. He would have been ashamed to confess to Harrigan or anyone else that he was candidly perplexed at Herman's abilities. He stepped across the threshold, brushing past the motionless robot, and turned at the door to the laboratory stairs. "Come, Herman," he said. The robot did not move. "Herman, go to the laboratory," said Maugham in a firm clear voice. Still no move. He remembered abruptly that he had given Herman this order before when Harrigan was still in the house. Apparently then Herman had not obeyed the order at that time. Something was wrong with the auditory mechanism. He came back to the robot's side and tried once more. Herman's mechanical arms came up, his fingers opened and closed on Maugham's arm. He held him immobile. "Stop!" commanded Maugham angrily. Herman held on. "Put me down," said Maugham. Herman released him. His arms once again fell laxly to his sides. He stood there, unblinking, apparently waiting upon his next command. "Go to the laboratory," said Maugham again. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the robot's head turned and shook his refusal. Maugham stared, aghast. He was at a loss for word or deed. * * * * *