It seemed to him that the resulting satisfaction would almost compensate him for the loss of his job. He did not go home for lunch. He only pretended to start out. Swiftly, he doubled back to the rear entrance and, hurrying to the projection room, concealed himself behind a substitute screen that stood against the wall.

  He waited during the entire lunch period. Nothing happened. Nobody tampered with the locked doors of the auditorium. No one came near the door of the projection room. And after lunch, when he started the projector, the film was different.

  In the morning it had been an ordinary film, concerned with daily farming. The afternoon film was about the development and use of chemicals to thin or thicken the human blood, and so enable human beings to fit themselves overnight for extreme changes in temperature.

  It was the first time that Caxton had closely examined one of the strange novelty films, of which he had ordered several about two weeks before. Examined it, that is, with his mind as well as his eyes, and was amazed. Who is making those pictures? he thought. Why they’re wonderful, so full of ideas that…

  He returned to the projection room after school for another look. And received the shock of his life. It was a different film. Different from the one in the morning. Different from the one after lunch. It was a third film, its subject the inside of the sun. With trembling fingers, Caxton rewound the film, and ran it through again. The perspiration came out on his face as an entirely different, fourth film, unwound on the screen. The wild impulse came to rush down to the office to phone Varney. That ended with the realisation that the man would refuse. The principal had implied at least twice that the film tangle would probably rectify the moment Caxton left. The burden of weariness that he wore made him cling to that conviction. ‘Tomorrow,’ he would say. ‘I’ll have a look at the projector tomorrow.’

  It couldn’t wait until tomorrow, or so it seemed to Caxton. For the first time, he remembered the phone call he had received more than two months before from Mr Arlay of the Arlay Film Library. The memory cooled him off. His second impulse within minutes - this time to call Arlay - faded before a recollection of what he had said to that man. He had been, he remembered, rather snooty. He’d phone Arlay later.

  He sat down and puffed at a cigarette, thinking nervously: Here is the most remarkable instrument in the twentieth century. And thinking of how he could get hold of it and keep it for himself.

  His final answer to that question grew out of an observation he had made at an early age, when he had first noticed that what his mother didn’t see him do she didn’t complain about.

  He went down into the basement of the school and secured a piece of sacking. Next, he removed the projector from its mounting and wrapped it securely. And carried it to his car. Returning, he grabbed all the films that he knew had been through the projector, and took them along in a paper bag.

  Let them figure out what had happened. The disappearance of the projector would seem like some sort of final mystery at the end of a week of confusion.

  And, of course, he would deny all knowledge.

  As a special precaution he drove all the way into the city, and rented storage space for the machine, using an assumed name.

  It was nearly seven o’clock when he arrived home for dinner, and, naturally, Lucy was mad. But Caxton had already analysed that the whole story of the school affair would shortly come out, and he was in process of hardening himself against the poisonous atmosphere that, he predicted to himself, a little shaken at the prospect, would result. Yet he also anticipated that the consequent nightmare would provide him with an opportunity to divorce a woman who had aged faster than he.

  Incredibly, his wife filed suit for divorce against him. … It seemed incredible to Caxton, because he had expected that she would try to hold on to him, and that he would have to fight his way out of the marriage.

  He was free to pursue his fantastic search.

  Caxton saw his first step as finding the Quik-Photo Supply Corporation, from which firm he himself had ordered the motion picture projector for the school a few months earlier. A used machine, shrewdly purchased by him at a low price as one of many actions that would show that he would make a frugal school principal, it undoubtedly had a history.

  That had to be the trail.

  IV

  The hospital bed was hard under his belly, For a moment it seemed to Caxton that this was what was bothering him. He turned over into a more comfortable position, and knew it wasn’t physical at all. It was something in his mind, the sense of emptiness that had been there since they had told him the date.

  After what seemed a long time, the door opened, and two men and a nurse came in. One of the men said in a hearty voice, ‘Well, how are you Caxton? It’s a shame to see you down like this.’

  The man was plumpish, a good-fellow type. Caxton accepted his vigorous handshake, lay very still for a moment, and then allowed the awkward but very necessary question to escape his lips. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said stiffly, ‘but do I know you?’

  The man said, ‘I’m Bryson, sales manager of the Quik-Photo Supply Corporation. Two weeks ago, I hired you and put you on the road as a salesman. The next thing I knew, you were found unconscious in a ditch, and the hospital advised me you were here.’ He finished, ‘You had identification papers on you connecting you with us.’

  Caxton nodded. But he was disappointed. He had thought it would be enough to have someone fill a gap in his mind. It wasn’t. He said finally, ‘My last remembrance is my decision to apply for a job with your firm. Apparently something happened to my mind at that point, and -’

  He stopped. His eyes widened at the thought that this might be connected with his search for the origin of the motion picture projector. He said slowly, conscious of an unpleasant sensation, ‘Apparently, I’ve had amnesia.’

  He saw that the house doctor, who had come in with Bryson, was looking at him sharply. Caxton mustered a wan smile. ‘I guess it’s all right, Doc. What gets me is the kind of life I must have lived these last two weeks. I’ve been lying here straining my brain. There’s something in the back of my mind, but I can’t remember what.’

  The doctor was smiling behind his pince-nez. ‘I’m glad you’re taking it so well. Nothing to worry about, really. As for what you did, I assure you that our experience has been that the victim of amnesia usually lives a reasonably normal life. One of the most frequent characteristics is that the victim takes up a different occupation. You didn’t even do that.’

  He paused, and the plump Bryson chimed in heartily, ‘I can clear up the first week for you. You spent a couple of days looking over our stock and checking our sources of supply. And then you told me that you had lived for a while as a boy in some village on the Warwick Junction-Kissling line. And that you would like to have that as your first route. I gave it to you.’

  It was his first piece of real information - and Caxton restrained himself with difficulty. Since he had never lived in any such place, that must be the area to which he had traced the projector…He grew aware that Bryson was still speaking:

  ‘We had orders from you from five towns on the way, but you never got to Kissling. Maybe that will help you…. No?’ The man shrugged. ‘Well, never mind. As soon as you’re up, Caxton, come and see me. In these days of ever more complicated electronic equipment, I’m glad to have an M. A. in physics on the staff. In fact, I’m dickering with some new representations, with you in mind as the man to handle them. There’ll be lots more money potential, so get well quickly.’

  Caxton said, ‘Right now, I’d like to have the same territory, if it’s all right.’

  Bryson nodded. ‘Mind you, it’s only a matter of finishing up what you missed before, and then moving further along the main line. Those other representations will take a while to organise. So the Kissling route is yours. I guess you want to check up on what happened to you.’

  ‘That,’ said Caxton, ‘is exactly what I have in mind. A sort of search for my memory.’

  He managed a grim smile as he thought, I must have found something… and that was the real search.

  Fear touched him. He fought it down, said, ‘I want to thank you for coming.’

  ‘That’s all right. So long.’

  Bryson shook hands warmly, and Caxton watched him out of the door.

  V

  Two days later, Caxton climbed off the Transcontinental at Warwick Junction, and stood blinking in the bright sun of early morning. His first disappointment had already come. He had hoped that the sight of the cluster of houses silhouetted against the line of hills would bring his memory back.

  Too obviously, his mind was not being jarred into the faintest remembrance of what he had done or seen sixteen days earlier. Caxton shook his head in bewilderment. Somebody knew me, he thought. Somebody must have seen me. I talked to storekeepers, travelers, trainmen, hotel men. I’ve always been able to pretend that I’m a sociable type….

  ‘Hello, there, Caxton, old chap,’ said a cheerful voice beside him. ‘You look as if you’re thinking about a funeral.’

  Caxton turned and saw a rather slender young man, dark-faced and dark-haired, about thirty years old. He had the slouch of a too-thin person who had carried too many sample cases. He must have noticed something in Caxton’s eyes, for he said quickly. ‘You do remember me, don’t you? Bill Kellie.’ He laughed easily. ‘Say, come to think of it, I’ve got a bone to pick with you. What did you do with that girl, Selanie? I’ve been past Piffer’s Road twice since I saw you last, and she didn’t come around either time. ‘She -’ He stopped and his gaze was suddenly sharp. ‘Say, you do remember me, don’t you?’

  Caxton emerged from his intense inner excitement, and realised from the expression on Kellie’s face that it was time to explain. He did so, finishing finally, ‘So you see, I’m in quite a mental fix. Maybe, if you don’t mind, you could give me some idea of what happened while I was with you. Who is this girl, Selanie?’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ said Kellie, ‘sure I’ll… ‘ He paused, frowned. ‘You’re not kidding me, are you?’ He waved Caxton silent. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll believe you. We’ve got half an hour before the Kissling local is due. Amnesia, eh? I’ve heard about that stuff, but say, you don’t think that old man could have anything to do with -’ He banged his right fist into his left palm. ‘I’ll bet that’s it.’

  ‘An old man!’ Caxton said. He caught himself, finished firmly. ‘What about this story?’

  The train slowed. Through the streaky window Caxton could see a rolling valley with patches of green trees and a gleaming, winding thread of water. Then some houses came into view, half a dozen siding tracks, and finally the beginning of a wooden platform.

  A tall, slim, fine-looking girl walked past his window carrying a basket. Behind Caxton, the traveling salesman who had come aboard at the last stop and to whom he had been talking said, ‘Oh, there’s Selanie. I wonder what kind of super-gadget she’s got for sale today.’

  Caxton leaned back in his seat, and his mind slowly fastened on what the other had said. ‘Selanie!’ he echoed then. ‘Curious name. Did you say she sells things?’

  ‘Does she sell things!’ Kellie spoke explosively.

  He must have realised the forcefulness of his words, for he drew a deep, audible breath. His blue eyes looked hard into Caxton’s. He started to say something, stopped himself, and finally sat smiling a secret smile. After a moment, he said, ‘You know, I really must apologise. I’ve just now realised that I’ve monopolised the conversation ever since we started talking.’

  Caxton smiled with polite tolerance. ‘You’ve been very entertaining.’

  Kellie persisted. ‘What I mean by that is, it’s just penetrated to me that you told me you sold photo supplies, among other things.’

  Caxton shrugged. He wondered if he looked as puzzled as he was beginning to feel. He watched as Kellie drew out a picture print and held it out for him to take. Kellie said, ‘See anything odd about that?’

  Caxton’s first glance saw it as a masterful color print. He had a hard time focusing on it because in the back of his mind he was waiting for one of those pointless arguments about the relative merits of the supplies he was selling. In the first place he didn’t give a damn, and in the second place - well, to hell with it!

  As he had these thoughts, he was trying to look at the print. It was almost as if he suddenly saw the scene for what it was then. And realised with a mental leap of excitement that he had seen it before: The same Venusian ocean scene as in one of the novelty films that he had secured from the Arlay Film Library while he was with Tichenor Collegiate. At least, it looked the same.

  Caxton’s fingers tightened on the print. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘From Selanie,’ was the triumphant reply.

  Caxton studied the beautiful, wild, water scene with its crazy monster more closely - and more relaxedly. It was fortunate, he told himself, that it was the Venusian scene. Sort of put the whole thing into a more ordinary perspective, because of course the Venus probes of the Great Powers had by now thoroughly established that Venus was not a steaming replica of the warm seas of prehistoric Earth. Instead, it was a super-hot desert with surface temperatures ranging high enough to melt many metals.

  He started to hand the print back to the younger man. ‘Pretty good,’ he said. ‘Somebody’s pretty slick at artwork. I’d like to meet this girl, Selanie.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Kellie. ‘There’s more.’

  He reached over and touched the print, squeezing one edge slightly. ‘Now look,’ he said.

  Caxton glanced down casually. For a moment - for just a moment - he was calm and merely expectant. And then there was an instant of mental blur and, finally, a gloppy confusion inside him as if all his innards had jumped simultaneously in different directions.

  As from a distance, he heard Kellie say, ‘I told you there was something odd about the print.’

  ‘Odd!’ It took a few seconds for Caxton to realise that the croaking voice had been his own.

  The next instant he was just staring.

  The scene on, or in, the print… moved. The waves churned. The creature with the huge lizard head, so reminiscent of the beasts that roamed the watery swamps of forty million years before on Earth, was going through its act of trying to capture the man who was hovering above the waves. It came rushing forward. Its mouth gaped. It launched itself from the water. Tantalisingly, the man rose up on his Fly-O, staying out of reach of the razor teeth that pushed so savagely up toward him.

  The attack sequence ran its course as Caxton watched. The picture came to a stop exactly when the gigantic jaws filled the entire print. At that point there was a peculiar blurring effect and then… the jaws faded. The scene was back again to what it had been when Caxton first took the print from Kellie’s hand.

  Unmoving, silent, beautiful, crazy.

  Presumably, ready to wind through its little sequence again.

  Caxton held the remarkable thing like a connoisseur caressing a priceless jewel. As from a great distance he heard Kellie chattering on. ‘Her father makes them,’ he was saying. ‘He’s a genius with gadgets. You ought to see some of the stuff she’s been selling on this train the last month. One of these days he’s going to get wise to himself and start large-scale manufacture. When that day comes, all photography companies and a lot of other firms go out of business.’

  It was a thought that had already occurred to Caxton. Before he could muster his mind for speech, the print was taken from his fingers, and Kellie was leaning across the aisle toward a handsome gray-haired man. Kellie said, ‘I noticed you looking at this, sir, while I was showing it to my friend. Would you like to examine it?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ said the man.

  He spoke in a low tone, but the sound had a resonance that tingled in Caxton’s ears. The old man’s fingers grasped the extended print and, just like that, the print broke into several pieces.

  ‘Oh!’ Kellie exclaimed blankly.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ said the fine looking old man. A dollar bill appeared in his hand. ‘That was my fault, I’m afraid. But you can buy another one from the girl when she comes.’ He leaned back in his seat, and buried himself behind a newspaper.

  Caxton saw that Kellie was biting his lip. The young man sat staring at the pieces of his broken print, then at the dollar bill, and then in the direction of the now hidden face of the gray-haired man. At last Kellie sighed. ‘I can’t understand it. I’ve had the print a month. It has twice fallen into water, and has been exposed to heat without damage - and now it crumbles like a piece of rotted wood.’ He shrugged, but his tone was complaining as he went on after a moment, ‘I suppose you can’t really expect Selanie’s father to do a first-rate job with the facilities he’s - ‘ He broke off excitedly. ‘Oh, look, there’s Selanie now. I wonder what she’s featuring today.’ A sly smile crept into his narrow face. ‘Just wait until I confront her with that ruined print. I kidded her when I bought it, told her there must be a trick to it. She got mad then, and guaranteed it for life. What the devil is she selling anyway? Look, they’re crowding around her.’

  Caxton climbed to his feet. He craned his neck the better to see over the heads of the crowd that was watching the girl demonstrate something at the far end of the car.

  ‘Good heavens!’ a man’s deep voice exclaimed. ‘How much are you charging for those cups? How do they work?’

  ‘Cups!’ said Caxton, and moved toward the group in a haze of fascination. If he had seen right, the girl was handing around a container which kept filling full of liquid. And people would drink, and it would fill up again instantly. Somehow, Caxton thought, her father had learned to precipitate liquids. There was genius here. And if he could make a deal with the man for himself, he was made.

  The tremendous thought ended, as the girl’s crystal-clear voice rose above the excited babble. ‘The price is one dollar each. It works by chemical condensation of gases in the air. The process is known only to my father. But wait, I haven’t finished my demonstration.’