would be struck against the peace and security of the world.... Don't
laugh, David; I mean it."

"I'm not laughing, Rutton; but you must know that's a pretty large
order. Most men would--"

"Call me mad. Yes, I know," Rutton took up his words as Amber paused,
confused. "I can't expect you to understand me: you couldn't unless I
were to tell you what I may not. But you know me--better, perhaps, than
any living man save Doggott ... and one other. You know whether or not
I would seek to delude you, David. And, knowing that I could not, you
know why it seems to me imperative that, this hole being discovered,
Doggott and I must betake ourselves elsewhere. Surely there must be
solitudes----!" He rose with a gesture of impatience and began
restlessly to move to and fro.

Amber started suddenly, flushing. "If you mean--"

Rutton's kindly hand forced him back into his chair. "Sit down, David.
I never meant that--never for an instant dreamed you'd intentionally
betray my secret. It's enough that you should know it, should
occasionally think of me as being here, to bring misfortune down upon
me, to work an incalculable disaster to the progress of this
civilisation of ours."

"You mean," Amber asked uncertainly, "thought transference?"

"Something of the sort--yes." The man came to a pause beside Amber,
looking down almost pitifully into his face. "I daresay all this sounds
hopelessly melodramatic and neurotic and tommyrotic, David, but ... I