I pushed further and more of it came loose. It was onlyat the very center that I felt a ragged spot of pain, beneathwhat seemed like a gauze dressing. It was then that I realized I was wearing a hairpiece, and beneath it a bandage.

There was a tiny ripple of applause as the presidentsaid something I had not heard. I looked at my watch.

Was that it, then? An accident? One for which I hadbeen treated in some emergency room—injured areashaved, scalp lacerations sutured, patient judged ambulatory and released, full concussion syndrome not realized?

Somehow that did not seem right. Emergency roomsdo not dispense hairpieces to cover their work. And a manin my condition would probably not have been allowed to walk away.

But I could worry about these things later. I had' cometo hear this talk. I had a good seat and a good view, andI should enjoy the occasion. I could take stock of myselfwhen the event was concluded.

Almost twenty minutes after the hour...

I tried to listen, but I could not keep my mind on whathe was saying- Something was wrong and J was hurtingmyself by not considering it. Very wrong, and not Justwith me. I was a part of it all, though. How? What?

I looked at the fat little telepath behind the presidentGo ahead and look into my mind, I willed. / would reallylike you to. Maybe you can see more deeply there than Ican myself. Look and see what is wrong. Tell me whathas happened, What is happening. I would like to know.

But he did not even glance my way. He was only interested in incipient mayhem, and my intentions were allpacific. If he read me at all, he must have dismissed mybewilderment as the stream of consciousness of one of thatsmall percentage of the highly neurotic which must occurin any sizable gathering—a puzzled man, but hardly adangerous one. His attention, and that of any of theothers, was reserved for whatever genuinely nasty specimens might be present. And rightly so.

There came another roll of thunder. Nothing. Nothingfor me beyond this hall, it reminded. The entire day upuntil my arrival was a blank. Work on it. Think. I hadread about cases of amnesia. Had I ever come across one just like this?

When had I decided to hear this speech? Why? What were the circumstances?

Nothing. The origin of my intention was hidden.

Could there be anything suspect? Was there anythingunusual about my desire to be here?

I—No, nothing.

Nineteen minutes after the hour.

I began to perspire. A natural result of my nervousness, I supposed.The second hand swept past the two, the three ...

Something to do. ... It would come clear in a moment. What? Never mind. Wait and see.

The six, the seven ...

As another wave of applause crossed the hall I beganto wish that I had not come.

Nine, ten ...

Twenty minutes after.

My lips began to move. I spoke softly. I doubt thatthe others about me even heard what I said.

"Step right this way, ladies and gentlemen. Try yourluck."

"... Try your luck."

Suddenly 1 was awake, in the gallery, my hand in mypocket. High up, before me, was the row of faces, the cutout cardboard bodies below them, lights shining uponthem. I felt the pistol and checked it without lookingdown. The one in front was the target that had beenchosen for me, moving slightly, with random jerkings.

I withdrew the weapon carefully and began to raise itslowly.

My hand! Who ...

I watched with a sudden and growing fear as my lefthand emerged from my pocket holding a gun. I had nocontrol over the action. It was as if the hand belongedto another person. I willed it back down, but it continuedto rise. So I did the only thing I could do.

I reached across with my right hand and seized myown wrist.

The left hand had a definite will of its own. It struggledagainst me. I tightened my grip and pushed it downwardwith all of my strength.

As this occurred, I found myself trying to get to myfeet. Snarls and curses rose unbidden to my lips. Thehand was strong. I was not certain how much longer Icould bold it.

The finger tightened on the trigger and my hands buckedwith the weapon's recoil. Fortunately, the muzzle waspointed downward when it went off. I hope that thericochet had not caught anyone.

People were screaming and rushing to get away fromme by then. Several others, however, were hurrying toward me. If I could only hold the hand until they gotto me....They hit me, two of them. One tackled me and theother took me around the shoulders. We went down. Asmy left arm was seized, I felt it relax. The pistol wastaken from me. Those two hands, such strangers, wereforced behind my back and handcuffed there. I rememberhoping that they would not break one another. They stop-

- ped struggling, however, hanging limply as I was raisedto my feet.

When I looked back toward the stage, the presidentwas gone. But the small chubby man was staring at me,dark eyes no longer drifting behind those heavy lensesas he began to move my way, gesturing to the men whoheld me.

Suddenly I felt very sick and weak, and my headwas aching again. I began to hurt in the places where Ihad been struck.

When the small man stood before me he reached outand clasped my shoulders.

"It is going to be all right now," he said.

The gallery wavered before me. There were no morecardboard silhouettes. Only people. I did not understandwhere everything had gone, or why he had told me thewords, then restrained me. I only knew that I had missedmy target and there would be no award. I felt my eyegrow moist.

They took me to a clinic. There were guards postedoutside my door. The small telepath, whose name I hadlearned was Arthur Cook, was with me much of the time.A doctor poked at the left side of my neck, inserted aneedle and dripped in a clear liquid. The rest was silence.

When I came around—how much later, I am uncertain

—the right side of my neck was also sore. Arthur andone of the doctors were standing at my bedside watchingme closely.

"Glad to have you back, Mister Mathews," Arthur said."We want to thank you."

"For what?" I asked. "I don't even know what happened."

"You foiled an assassination plan. I am tempted tosay single-handed, but I am not much given to puns. Youwere an unwilling party to one of the most ingeniousattempts to evade telepathic security measures to date.You were the victim of some ruthless people, usinghighly sophisticated medical methods in their conspiracy.Had they taken one additional measure, I believe theywould have succeeded. However, they permitted both ofyou to be present at the key moment and that was theirundoing."

"Both of me?"

"Yes, Mister Mathews. Do you know what the corpus callosum is?"

"A part of the brain, I think."

"Correct. It is an inch-long, a quarter-inch-thick bundleof fibers which serves to join the right and left cerebralhemispheres. If it is severed, it results in the creation oftwo separate individuals in one body. It is sometimesdone in cases of severe epilepsy to diminish the effectsof seizures."

"Are you saying that I have undergone such surgery?"

*'Yes, you have."

*'... And there is another 'me' inside my head?"

"That is correct. The other hemisphere is still sedatedat the moment, however."

"Which one am I?"

"You are the left cerebral hemisphere. You possessthe linguistic abilities and the powers of more complicatedreasoning. The other side is move intuitive and emotionaland possesses greater visual and. spatial capabilities."

"Can this surgery be undone?"

*•No."

"I see. And you say that other people have had suchoperations—epileptics... . How did they—do—afterward?"

The doctor spoke then, a tall man, hawk-featured, hairof a smoky gray.