Bronson recoiled a bit.
"Now, relax," said Mason.
"Do you think I'm crazy?" asked Bronson sharply.
"Of course not. You're not crazy, my boy. Just tell me—"
"You—"
"My friend, the symptoms of paranoia are simple and easy to determine. The hushed voices, in the earlier stages, merely talk about the victim. In a later stage the voices threaten. In still a later state the hushed voices take physical being and all too often it is someone entirely innocent of any malice.
"Now this tale of people from another world, Mr. Bronson, must be faced for what it is. You are not crazy, my boy. Merely ill—no worse than a bad cold or influenza, for instance. But you are ill and you must be treated."
"Treated?" exploded Bronson angrily. "Treated—for an imagined mental ailment when the earth itself is in danger of being invaded?"
"The earth is not in danger," said the psychiatrist firmly. "And—"
"I will not be—"