Parapsychological circles reacted with an affectionate blend of awe and amusement. Fellow professors wrote him congratulatory notes, some with postscripts that jibed at him goodnaturedly. The editors of two psychic journals called to ask for articles. One Eastern university wanted to test him for PC and PK, but Lucifer stalled for time, waiting for something or someone to cause him to vanish from the face of the earth.
On the evening of August 23, about eight-thirty, there was a knock on the screen door of his bachelor apartment. Lucifer called, "Come in, please," but he continued to work at a statistical tabulation.
The door opened; footsteps approached his desk.
"Sit down," said Lucifer. He had been expecting a summer school graduate student to come by for a book. "I'll be through with this column in just a moment."
"There is no hurry, Dr. Brill."
The voice was strange. It had almost a metallic ring.
Lucifer's fingers turned white where they gripped the pencil. But he carefully totalled up the column and rechecked the answer, ferreting out an error in the addition of 29 plus 8.
Only then did he swivel around to face the tall, thin, dark-faced stranger. Lucifer said quietly,
"Good evening. I am sorry to have kept you waiting."
The stranger nodded, and took a small blue phial from his pocket. Long, lean-muscled fingers squeezed the phial.