‘That seems reasonable to me,’ I said. ‘I remember saying to one of those psychic/psychologic researchers from a comic new University – Lancaster? – that most poker-players are familiar with that rare and wonderful feeling which occurs perhaps once in a thousand hands, when they know they cannot lose: I told him that I’d had it twice and so strongly that I hadn’t looked at my hand, hadn’t drawn to it, had betted it to the hilt and had not been in the least surprised when I’d won. The researcher-twit’s reaction was to deal me singles from a cold pack of cards, inviting me to guess the colours. My results were nine percent below random probability, or whatever they call it. That made me a liar in his eyes and him an idiot in mine. I could have told him, had he had the wit to ask, that the necessary conditions were that we should have been playing a real game for several hours, that I should have ingested perhaps a third of a bottle of brandy, that I should have been slightly ahead of my table-stakes by virtue of the ordinary run of cards and that, in short, I should have been in that state of drowsy euphoria where I was effectively asleep in all bodily departments except my card-sense.’

‘You couldn’t have put it better!’ cried Eric. ‘All the conditions were there, you see: mild fatigue, mild euphoria, mild depression from the brandy – I’ll bet your alpha-waves were at something very like ten cycles per second.’

‘No takers,’ I said.

‘Quite. By the way, I’m sorry to say “quite” all the time but much of my work lies amongst Americans and they expect Englishmen to say it.’

‘Just so,’ I said.

‘Whether these receptions, if that is a useful word, come because of me, or through me, or merely from me, I cannot say,’ he went on. ‘So far, however, like Raudive, I must admit that I have not encountered any words which were in a language I did not know, nor from any sources with which I was not familiar. This might seem to suggest that I am, as it were, the prime mover; but it could just be a communication-problem, don’t you think?’

I didn’t mean to say ‘quite’ but it seemed to slip out. I poured him some more Pastis and gave him a friendly grin, which probably looked more like a rictus.

‘Well,’ I boomed uncertainly, ‘let’s have a shot, shall we?’ He did his gazing act again for a minute or two, then put an arm protec tively around the machine and sort of nestled against it as he switched on. He gazed moonily at the revolving tape for five long minutes, then shook his head violently and rewound the tape to the beginning.

‘No good?’ I asked cheerfully.