A smallish young man, later identified as Mark Smythe, attempted to run past him into the hall. The watchman blocked Mark's escape and looked toward the podium in an automatic appeal to Dr. Grant. Dr. Grant was not there. The podium was unoccupied. So were all four hundred seats. There was, in fact, no one in room 304 except the one terrified student. In due course the police arrived, along with the regents. By five o'clock it had become certain that the greatest mass disappearance of all times had occurred, with Mark Smythe as the sole witness. He stuck to his story through repeated detailed questionings, and in the end the police were stuck with it. According to Smythe, class had begun as usual. Dr. Grant had waited until one minute after the bell had sounded, then had marched back and locked the door, and returned to the front. He had rapidly scanned the room to see if there were any absences, quickly called half a dozen names he was uncertain of, and marked the attendance slip. The police found it still resting on the table where he had placed it. Then he had begun his lecture by remarking that they were behind schedule and would have to catch up. He had been speaking less than five minutes when a student by the name of Marvin Green jumped to his feet in great excitement, waving his hand and shouting, "Dr. Grant! Dr. Grant!" Dr. Grant had stopped his lecture and frowned darkly, then said, "If you will please take your seat--" "But Dr. Grant!" Marvin Green had interrupted him excitedly. "I've got it! I've got it!" What had happened then was impossible for the mind to accept. Marvin Green had simply ceased to be. There had been a stunned silence. And in that silence, it went on. Student after student popping out of existence in what seemed to be a chain reaction. He wasn't aware when Dr. Grant vanished. All he knew was that when at last he was alone he looked toward the podium and the professor was also gone. He kept waiting to go himself. When he didn't, he lost the fear that had rooted him to the spot, and rushed to the exit where he at first tried to break down the door and make his escape, then subsided into pounding and shouting for help when he realized his physical strength was insufficient for the job. Questioning didn't bring out any additional fact, nor alter any statement. There had been no sound to the vanishing, no movement of the person that could be considered significant, no flashes of light, no strange odors. Nothing. * * * * * Fred Grant got the flash on his hot rod radio on the way home from high school. At the end of the report Fred wrote down Mark Smythe's address on a scrap of paper, and drove home to be with his mother. It was three days before he could get away.