that Dr. Gaard wanted him to wait a few moments. Then she dialed an outside number. Fred listened to the clicks and knew it was his home phone. The psychiatrist was going to talk to his mother. He hadn't wanted that, but it wouldn't matter materially.

The wait lasted almost half an hour. Then, with heart pounding, Fred was walking toward the dark walnut door to the inner office. Inside, he caught a comprehensive glimpse of the rumored couch, luxurious desk and chairs, thick expensive rug, and an assortment of floor-lamps and oil paintings. Then the psychiatrist was upon him, heartily welcoming him.

There were time-marking conversational exchanges about school, the hot rod, and life in general. There was the pause while each sized the other up.

Then, "I'm glad you dropped in, Fred," Dr. Gaard smiled casually.

"I'm all mixed up," Fred said. "I know something's wrong with me. I wanted someone to talk to, now that Dad is gone. I thought of you. I didn't want to bother Mom. Do you really straighten out crazy people?"

"Not exactly," Curt chuckled. "A psychologist finds most of his patients among people who are just upset about things. They aren't insane. They just need someone who has experience to help them get their thoughts straightened out."

"Maybe that's all I need," Fred said. "I don't think I'm crazy."

"Of course you aren't. You're a very healthy-minded young man."

"I don't want Mom to know about this...."

Curt frowned, jotted something down on a notepad. It was, Fred guessed, a notation to call his mother and warn her to keep quiet.

"Don't worry about your mother. Now tell me, just what seems to be the trouble?" Curt smiled encouragingly.

"Are you married?" Fred asked with teen-age frankness.

"No," Curt smiled.

"Would you marry my mother?" Fred asked bluntly. "I would like for you to be my father."

Curt Gaard stared at him a moment. "I really believe you mean that," he said slowly. "You know, don't you, that it will be two years before she can be free to marry? Your father can't be declared legally, ah, departed, for two years."

"No. I didn't know," Fred said, real dismay on his face. He hadn't known about that. He thought rapidly. "Then can I come live with you? Just until Mom can marry you?" Inwardly he was enjoying this. And he hoped he wasn't overdoing it.

"We can't do that," Curt said. "I'll tell you what we can do, though. I'll invite myself out to dinner tomorrow evening. Don't say anything. I'll surprise your mother. And we'll see a lot of each other from now on. Okay?"

Fred nodded. It was definitely okay. He wanted to be present when Curt Gaard disappeared into thin air, and this way he had a chance.

He left Curt's office highly exhilarated, almost drunk with the emotion of things working right. It lasted until the following evening when the doctor showed up and he and Fred's mother put on their little act. Then his emotions swung the other way. He experienced a reluctance to go through with his plans. There was too much that was likeable about the man. And his mother did like him.

"Poor Dad," Fred thought.

After dinner the next evening, Curt kept the conversation on Fred's father. It was, Fred sensed, the right time to bring up the theory. Curt would do anything to please him, to draw him out.

But he hesitated. Stretching elaborately, he said, "I'm sleepy. Why don't you and Mom play Canasta or something?"

"I'm going to be much too busy," his mother said. "I have to finish proofreading your father's book for the publisher. Mr. Browne is finally going to print it, and wants it back right away."

"When did that happen?" Fred demanded. "Can I read it?"

"You can read it when it comes out. Now you and Curt go into the study and leave me alone." She herded them out of the room.

This interlude had served to strengthen Fred's resolve. Alone with the psychiatrist, he let slip that he knew of a wonderful theory his father had originated, then tried to cover up.

Curt used flattery. Fred took his cue and slyly bragged that it was a theory few college professors could understand even, but he understood it.

More coaxing and he was ready to start in. But his conscience got the better of him. He balked, and even as he tried to squirm out of it he realized that it was too late. Dr. Gaard would never rest until the theory had been told.

"I'll tell you the next time you come," he suggested as a last retreat.

"Tonight," Curt said. "Even if it takes all night. You can miss school tomorrow." He winked. "I can okay it with the teacher."

"All right," Fred said in sudden crystallization of decision. "But only if you agree to master every step of it, stopping me until you have." Curt agreed. He started in.

After half an hour it settled into serious listening on Curt's part, and pertinent questions that made Fred realize he was dealing with a mind of more than average keenness.

Fred's mother wandered in occasionally, and out again, without being noticed by either of them.

An hour passed. Two. The final steps were drawing nearer. At times Curt was even anticipating some of them. It was midnight when it was finished. The mind of Curt Gaard held the entire pattern.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off the man's face. The face that was mirroring the rapid flow of thoughts as it reviewed and attacked every brick in the structure, finding it solid, and solidly cemented to its neighbors.

Then he saw a change come over the man's face. He had accepted the theory. Now he was trying to integrate it into the problem of Fred Grant. He hadn't yet seen the connection between the theory and the mysterious disappearances.

And perhaps he wouldn't. If he did he might go the final step and realize what was going to happen to him. Fred hoped that wouldn't happen. He didn't want his victim to be conscious of being a victim.

"You are intelligent, Fred," Curt probed, "to be able to master such an advanced theory." He glanced at his watch. "It's getting pretty late. I'll tell you what. After school tomorrow drop down to my office. We'll come out for dinner here together."

"Say! That'd be swell!" Fred enthused. "I'll get right to bed so I can get enough sleep." He leaped up and called, "Mom! I'm going to bed now." He winked broadly at Curt to let him know he was getting out of his way so they could be alone together a few minutes.

And that was that. The die was cast, and all that remained was to try and use it to make progress, rather than letting it be just another disappearance that pointed to nothing constructive.

There was no way of telling how fast it would work. The next afternoon and evening there was little to provide an indication, other than an occasional look that came over Curt for moments at a time.

A date was made for Saturday. It was to be a picnic in the country. That meant skipping Friday. Fred violently objected, but Curt and his mother overrode his objections. So in the end it had to be Saturday, unless Curt disappeared before then.

He didn't.

But ten minutes before school was out Friday a note was brought into the classroom from the principal's office. Curt had called to ask Fred to come to his office directly from school.

Torn between excited anticipation that the psychiatrist had made an important discovery, and fear that the man would have vanished before he could get to him, Fred ran from the school building and caught the bus.

At Curt's office the receptionist smiled and told him to go right in. His sigh of relief was genuine. Curt was sitting at his desk.

"Come in, son," he said.

There were the amenities. "How did school go today?" "Okay." "Anything happen?" Fred waited impatiently. Then: "I've been thinking a lot about your father's theory, Fred, and I would like to ask a few questions—if it won't upset you."

"Of course not!" Fred said.

"Okay, here's a question," Curt