"That's true. We've got to get to the bottom of it, and that's where you come in. You're the expert on this sort of thing."
Franstein looked at his watch. "Let's sleep on it and see what happens tomorrow, eh?"
He was on his way to the door when the telephone bell rang. Snow picked up the receiver, and he heard him say: "Sandra?... What?... I'll be right over. I've got Abe Franstein with me. I'll bring him with me. Don't worry dear."
Snow hung up. "Something's happened to Richardson," he said. "He's gone into a deep sleep and won't wake, and he's talking to himself in some funny language. Let's go."
Snow rummaged in a drawer of his desk and found a stethoscope.
III
Five minutes later, they were standing with pretty Sandra Richardson at the foot of the bed on which Richardson, clad in his pajamas, sprawled on his back. He was in a deep sleep and from his mouth came a low chanting. Franstein and Snow glanced at each other as they recognized the sounds.
Snow tried to wake the astronaut, gently at first, then less so, but it had no effect. He used his stethoscope on heart and lungs, drew back an eyelid and examined the eye beneath, felt the brow.
"When did this happen?" he asked the anxious Sandra.