He grinned at her. "It's my thoughts, not yours, which are going to be exposed to the public, in this case you," he said. "And while I develop the film, I suggest you powder up a bit. You look a bit wan and tired...."

"Before I do," she said, "I want to warn you."

"About what?"

"It wasn't just lines and patterns and lights on the screen. It was actual pictures."

He gaped at her. "Pictures!"

"Yes. And it means at least one of the results of our experiments are going to be sensational. The pineal gland may be the answer to perfect psychiatric diagnosis, because it seems that it translates the brain waves into actual pictures."

"The pineal gland—an eye in reverse!" he gasped.

"Exactly. And now, I'll leave you. And if you don't care to show me these particular pictures, I'll...."

"Judging from what I was thinking initially, it's going to be a pleasure!" he said.

She swept furiously from the room.

Two hours later he seated her before the projection screen and went back to the projector.

"If you're sure this isn't going to embarrass you...." she began.

"It won't," he assured her. "I haven't seen any of it yet, except a few interesting glimpses I caught in the darkroom. But if you look like some of the things I saw...."

"Just what do you mean?"

"Wait and see." He switched on the projector and came back to sit down beside her.

As the first picture appeared on the screen, only an indistinct white pillar was visible. It swirled, thickened, grew more distinct. A face appeared. "It's you," he said.

"Yes," she said. "And then I turned up the power to bring the image up stronger."

The image on the screen clarified. He drew a long breath. "Nice!" he breathed. "And I gather that's where you socked me?"

"Don't you think I should have? Is that all you've 

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