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Tunnel. He was here to study the phenomenon of mass hysteria, and to help these people work out ways not only of healing the present victims but of preventing recurrences of these tragedies. How could he deign to explain what had happened to the Tunnel’s victims if he didn’t make a close study of the cause of their disturbances? He
had
to. It would be sheer malfeasance to back out.
    Nor did he want anyone, not even these strangers here in Jonglor, to be able to accuse him of cowardice. He remembered the taunts of his childhood: “Fatty is a coward! Fatty is a coward!” All because he hadn’t wanted to climb a tree that was obviously beyond the capabilities of his heavy, ill-coordinated body.
    But Fatty wasn’t a coward. Sheerin knew that. He was content with himself: a sane, well-balanced man. He simply didn’t want other people making incorrect assumptions about him because of his unheroic appearance.
    Besides, fewer than one out of ten of those who had gone through the Tunnel of Mystery had come out of it showing any symptoms of emotional disturbance. And those people must have been vulnerable in some special way. Precisely
because
he was so sane, Sheerin told himself, because he was so well balanced, he had nothing to fear.
    Nothing
—
    To
—
    Fear
—
    He kept repeating those words to himself until he felt almost calm.
    Even so, Sheerin was something other than his customary jolly self as he went downstairs to wait for the hospital car to pick him up.
    Kelaritan was there, and Cubello, and a striking-looking woman named Varitta 312, who was introduced to him as one of the engineers who had designed the Tunnel. Sheerin greetedthem all with hearty handshakes and a broad smile that he hoped seemed convincing.
    “A nice day for a trip to the amusement park,” he said, trying to sound jovial.
    Kelaritan looked at him oddly. “I’m glad you feel that way. Did you sleep well, Dr. Sheerin?”
    “Very well, thanks. —As well as could be expected, I should say. After seeing those unhappy people yesterday.”
    Cubello said, “You aren’t optimistic about their chances of recovery, then?”
    “I’d like to be,” Sheerin told the lawyer ambiguously.
    The car moved smoothly down the street.
    “It’s about a twenty-minute drive to the Centennial Exposition grounds,” Kelaritan said. “The Exposition itself will be crowded—it is every day—but we’ve had a big section of the amusement area roped off so that we won’t be disturbed. The Tunnel of Mystery itself, as you know, has been shut down since the full extent of the troubles became apparent.”
    “You mean the deaths?”
    “Obviously we couldn’t allow the ride to remain open after that,” Cubello said. “But you must realize that we were considering shutting down much earlier. It was a question of determining whether the people who appeared to have been disturbed by their trips through the Tunnel were actually suffering harm or were merely falling in with popular hysteria.”
    “Of course,” Sheerin said, his tone a dry one. “The City Council wouldn’t have wanted to close down such a profitable attraction except for a really good reason. Such as having a bunch of the customers drop dead from fright, I suppose.”
    The atmosphere in the car became exceedingly chilly.
    Kelaritan said, after a time, “The Tunnel was not only a profitable attraction but also one that nearly everyone who attended the Exposition was eager to experience, Dr. Sheerin. I understand that thousands of people had to be turned away every day.”
    “Even though it was obvious from the very first day that some of those who rode through the Tunnel, like Harrim and his family, were coming out of it in psychotic states?”
    “
Especially
because of that, Doctor,” Cubello said.
    “What?”
    “Forgive me if I seem to be explaining your own specialty to you,” the lawyer said unctuously. “But I’d like to remind you that there’s a fascination in being frightened
when