"Suppose I were to say that I remembered being a caveman. How would you test that?" Skagarach and Bill Cuff grinned. The other two seemed without humor. "Go ahead, tell us what you remember," said my cousin. "I don't--but suppose I say, I remember hunting a mammoth...." "You would be lying. You'd recall other things--mating with human women, being stalked to your death, fighting the upstart Man. You would have flashes of other centuries, of being named werewolf, vampire, hobgoblin, ogre, bugbear and demon. Always the violence, the antagonism to man, the slaying and being slain. Not the common everyday life, but the high and savage points." "I see. You give me a swell opportunity to lie to you," I told him candidly. I had nothing to lose, for I wouldn't bother lying. I had a hunch it wouldn't do me any good in this swift job I had to do. "There are other checks on you," said Skagarach. He leaned forward suddenly. "Truthfully--_do you_ have stirrings when I say those things? Does your brain murmur the least surprise of faintest recognition?" "Truthfully," I said, "no." "Never mind," said he, sitting back again. "It took me 17 years to develop the memory fully. Others are given it by a knock on the head, or even, as Cuff here, gain it full-blown in a few days with no stimulus from outside. You be patient, Ray. It will come." _And when it does, if it does_, I thought, _I hope I have the strength to kill myself before I stop being a man and turn into one of these pre-historic horrors!_ Then I remembered that they claimed telepathic powers. I glanced from one to another. Either my sudden thought hadn't reached them, or they hadn't minded its implications. I said tentatively, "Can you read the thoughts of other men?" "_Men_, not other men," said Trutch viciously. "Yes," said Skagarach. Now I had spent a good many years around actors, and damned good ones at that. This Skagarach was an actor from the word go, but I believed that I was a better one. So I said carelessly, "Can you tell what I'm thinking?" and allowed my face to assume the tiniest lines of worry, the smallest indications of fear possible to the facial muscles. Skagarach said immediately, "You're fretting over your wife." It was a good guess. He knew his book of reactions and signs inside and out. The only trouble was that I had at that moment been concentrating intently on a chocolate milk shake and a cheeseburger. I had even been saying the words over in my mind. So I knew that he had been trying to convince me of the truth of a lie, and that was another flake of hope for me. It was a good thing for me that I had those few minute hopes. They were _all_ I had. CHAPTER V