Into the phone he said, "Goodbye."

"I love you, Niehls." A breathless feminine voice; this was not the call which he had anticipated. "Do you love me?"

"Yes, Charise," he said. "I love you, too. But dammit, don't call me during business hours; I thought you knew that."

Contritely, Charise McFadden said, "Sorry, Niehls. But I keep thinking about poor Lance. Did you do the research on him that you promised? I bet you didn't."

As a matter of fact he had; or more accurately he had instructed a minor employee of the library to do the task for him. Reaching into the top desk drawer he brought out Lance Arbuthnot's folio. "Here it is," he informed Charise. "I know all there is to know about this crank. All I care to know, more correctly." He leafed among the sheets of paper within the file. "There's not much here, actually. Arbuthnot hasn't done much. You understand I can only take time to go into this matter because a major library client has failed – so far – to keep his two-thirty appointment. If he does show up, I'll have to terminate this conversation."

"Did Arbuthnot know the Anarch Peak?"

"That part of his account is true."

"And he is a genuine crank. So eradicating his thesis would be a distinct gain for society. It's your duty." Over the vid portion of the phone she batted her long lashes coaxingly. "Come on, Niehls, dear. Please."

"But," Lehrer continued inflexibly, "there is nothing here suggesting that Arbuthnot spent any time concocting a paper dealing with the psychosomatic aspects of death by meteor-strike."

She colored, hesitated, then said in a low voice, "I, um, made that up."

"Why?"

After a pause, Charise said, falteringly, "Well, h-h-he's – the fact is, I'm his mistress."

"The fact is," Lehrer said boring ahead with ruthless vigor, "you don't really know what his thesis is about. It may be perfectly rational. A significant contribution to our society. Correct?" He did not wait for her reply; reaching, he started to break the phone circuit.

"Wait." She swallowed rapidly, ducked her head, then plunged on as his fingers touched the trip switch of the phone. "All right, Niehls; I admit it. Lance refuses to tell me what his thesis is about. He won't tell anybody. But if you'll undertake to eradicate it – don't you see? He'll have to reveal it to you; your analysis of it is required before the syndicate accepts it. Isn't that so? And then you'll tell me what it's all about. I know you will."

Lehrer said, "What do you care what it's about?"

"I think," Charise said, hesitating, "it has to do with me. Honest. There's something strange about me, and Lance noticed it. I mean, that's not so unusual when you consider how, um, close we two are; we see so much – if you'll excuse the expression – of each other."

"I find this a dull topic," Lehrer said frigidly. At this point, he said to himself, I wouldn't accept Arbuthnot's thesis at any cost to me. Even if they debited me to the tune often thousand poscreds. "I'll talk to you some other time," he said, and broke the phone circuit.

"Sir," his secretary Miss Tomsen said over the desk intercom, "there's this man out here who's been waiting since six this evening. He says he only wants a second or two of your time, and Miss McFadden led him to understand that you'd be glad to -"

"Tell him I died in office," Lehrer said harshly.

"But you can't die, sir. You're under the Hobart Phase. And Mr. Arbuthnot knows that, because he mentioned it. He's been sitting out here doing a Hobart type horoscope on you, and he predicts that great things have happened to you during the previous year. Frankly he makes me nervous; some of his predictions sound so accurate."

"Fortune-telling about the past doesn't interest me," Lehrer said. "In fact, as far as I'm concerned, it's a hoax. Only the future is knowable." The man is a crank, all right, Lehrer realized. Charise told me the truth in that respect. Imagine maintaining in all seriousness that what has already happened, what has vanished into the limbo of nebulous yesterday, can be predicted. There's one killed every minute, as P.T. Barnum phrased it.

Maybe I should see him, he reflected. Charise is right; ideas like this ought to be eradicated for the good of mankind, if not for my own peace of mind.

But that was not all. Now a measure of curiosity overcame him. It would be interesting, in a feeble way, to hear the idiot out. See what he predicted, especially for the recent few weeks. And then accept his thesis for eradication. Be the first person he casts a Hobart type of horoscope for.

Undoubtedly, Ludwig Eng did not intend to show up. The time, Lehrer said to himself, must be two o'clock by now. He glanced at his wristwatch. And blinked.

The watch hands semaphored two-forty.

"Miss Tomsen," Lehrer said into the intercom, "What time do you have?"

"Leaping J. Lizards," Miss Tomsen said. "It's earlier than I thought. I distinctly recall it being two-twenty just a moment ago. My watch must have stopped."

"You mean it's later than you thought. Two-forty is later than two-thirty."

"No sir, if you don't resent my disagreeing with you. I mean, it's not my place to tell you what's what, but I am right. You can ask anybody. I'll ask this gentleman out here. Mr. Arbuthnot, isn't two-forty earlier than two-twenty?"

Over the intercom speaker came a masculine voice, dry and controlled. "I'm only interested in seeing Mr. Lehrer, not in holding academic discussions. Mr. Lehrer, if you will see me, I guarantee you'll find my thesis the most flagrant piece of outright trash you've ever had brought to your attention; Miss McFadden will not mislead you."

"Send him in," Lehrer reluctantly instructed Miss Tomsen. He felt perplexed. Something weird had begun to happen, something which was connected with the orderly flow of time. But he could not make out precisely what.

A dapper young man, in the first stages of baldness, entered the office, a briefcase under his arm. He and Lehrer briefly shook and then Arbuthnot seated himself facing the desk.

So this is the man Charise is having an affair with, Lehrer said to himself. Well, so it goes. "I'll give you ten minutes," he stated. "And then you're out of here. You understand?"

"I have concocted here," Arbuthnot said, unzipping his briefcase, "the most outrageously impossible concept imaginable to my mind. And I think official eradication is absolutely essential, here, if this idea is to be kept from taking root and doing actual outright harm. There are people who pick up and act on any idea, no matter how contrary to rational good sense. You're the only person I've shown this to, and I show it to you with grave reservations." Arbuthnot then, in one brisk and spasmodic motion, dropped his typewritten work on the surface of Niehls Lehrer's desk. And sat back, waiting.

With professional caution, Lehrer surveyed the title of the paper, then shrugged. "This is nothing more than an inversion of Ludwig Eng's famous work." He slid his castered chair back from the desk, disavowing the manuscript; raising both hands he gestured in dismissal. "This is not so preposterous; it's logically thinkable to reverse Eng's title – anybody could do it at any time."

Arbuthnot said grimly, "But no one has. Until now. Read it once again and think out the implications."

Unimpressed, Lehrer once more examined the thick bundle of pages.

"The implications," Arbuthnot continued in a low, quiet, but tense voice, "of the eradication of this manuscript."

The title, still unimpressive to Lehrer, read:

HOW I DISASSEMBLED MY SWABBLE

INTO ORDINARY HOUSEHOLD OBJECTS IN MY BASEMENT

DURING MY SPARE TIME

"So?" Lehrer said. "Anyone can disassemble a swabble; in fact it's being done. In fact, thousands of swabbles are being eradicated; it's the pattern. In fact, I doubt whether a single swabble is now to be found anywhere in -"