Lanning found his voice and let it out with a roar. "You're suspended, d'ye hear? You're relieved of all duties. You're broken, do you understand?"
The smile on the other's face broadened, "Now, what's the use of that? You're getting nowhere. I'm holding the trumps. I know you've resigned. Herbie told me, and he got it straight from you."
Lanning forced himself to speak quietly. He looked an old, old man, with tired eyes peering from a face in which the red had disappeared, leaving the pasty yellow of age behind, "I want to speak to Herbie. He can't have told you anything of the sort. You're playing a deep game, Bogert, but I'm calling your bluff. Come with me."
Bogert shrugged, "To see Herbie? Good! Damned good!"
It was also precisely at noon that Milton Ashe looked up from his clumsy sketch and said, "You get the idea? I'm not too good at getting this down, but that's about how it looks. It's a honey of a house, and I can get it for next to nothing."
Susan Calvin gazed across at him with melting eyes. "It's really beautiful," she sighed. "I've often thought that I'd like to-" Her voice trailed away.
"Of course," Ashe continued briskly, putting away his pencil, "I've got to wait for my vacation. It's only two weeks off, but this Herbie business has everything up in the air." His eyes dropped to his fingernails, "Besides, there's another point - but it's a secret."
"Then don't tell me."
"Oh, I'd just as soon, I'm just busting to tell someone - and you're just about the best -er- confidante I could find here." He grinned sheepishly.
Susan Calvin's heart bounded, but she did not trust herself to speak.
"Frankly," Ashe scraped his chair closer and lowered his voice into a confidential whisper, "the house isn't to be only for myself. I'm getting married!"
And then he jumped out of his seat, "What's the matter?"
"Nothing!" The horrible spinning sensation had vanished, but it was hard to get words out. "Married? You mean-"
"Why, sure! About time, isn't it? You remember that girl who was here last summer. That's she! But you are sick. You-"
"Headache!" Susan Calvin motioned him away weakly. "I've... I've been subject to them lately. I want to... to congratulate you, of course. I'm very glad-" The inexpertly applied rouge made a pair of nasty red splotches upon her chalk-white face. Things had begun spinning again. "Pardon me - please-"
The words were a mumble, as she stumbled blindly out the door. It had happened with the sudden catastrophe of a dream - and with all the unreal horror of a dream.
But how could it be? Herbie had said-
And Herbie knew! He could see into minds!
She found herself leaning breathlessly against the doorjamb, staring into Herbie's metal face. She must have climbed the two flights of stairs, but she had no memory of it. The distance had been covered in an instant, as in a dream.
As in a dream!
And still Herbie's unblinking eyes stared into hers and their dull red seemed to expand into dimly shining nightmarish globes.
He was speaking, and she felt the cold glass pressing against her lips. She swallowed and shuddered into a pertain awareness of her surroundings.
Still Herbie spoke, and there was agitation in his voice - as if he were hurt and frightened and pleading.
The words were beginning to make sense. "This is a dream," he was saying, "and you mustn't believe in it. You'll wake into the real world soon and laugh at yourself. He loves you, I tell you. He does, he does! But not here! Not now! This is an illusion."
Susan Calvin nodded, her voice a whisper, "Yes! Yes!" She was clutching Herbie's arm, clinging to it, repeating over and over, "It isn't true, is it? It isn't, is it?"
Just how she came to her senses, she never knew - but it was like passing from a world of misty unreality to one of harsh sunlight. She pushed him away from her, pushed hard against that steely arm, and her eyes were wide.
"What are you trying to do?" Her voice rose to a harsh scream. "What are you trying to do?"
Herbie backed away, "I want to help"
The psychologist stared, "Help? By telling me this is a dream? By trying to push me into schizophrenia?" A hysterical tenseness seized her, "This is no dream! I wish it were!"
She drew her breath sharply, "Wait! Why... why, I understand. Merciful Heavens, it's so obvious."
There was horror in the robot's voice, "I had to!"
"And I believed you! I never thought-"
Loud voices outside the door brought her to a halt. She turned away, fists clenching spasmodically, and when Bogert and Lanning entered, she was at the far window. Neither of the men paid her the slightest attention.
They approached Herbie simultaneously; Lanning angry and impatient, Bogert, coolly sardonic. The director spoke first.
"Here now, Herbie. Listen to me!"
The robot brought his eyes sharply down upon the aged director, "Yes, Dr. Lanning."
"Have you discussed me with Dr. Bogert?"
"No, sir." The answer came slowly, and the smile on Bogert's face flashed off.
"What's that?" Bogert shoved in ahead of his superior and straddled the ground before the robot. "Repeat what you told me yesterday."
"I said that " Herbie fell silent. Deep within him his metallic diaphragm vibrated in soft discords.
"Didn't you say he had resigned?" roared Bogert. "Answer me!"
Bogert raised his arm frantically, but Lanning pushed him aside, "Are you trying to bully him into lying?"
"You heard him, Lanning. He began to say 'Yes' and stopped. Get out of my way! I want the truth out of him, understand!"