At the end of Weichart’s astonishing calculation, the Director had thought it wise to caution the whole meeting to secrecy. Whether they were right or wrong, no good could come of talking outside the Observatory, not even at home. Once the spark was struck the story would spread like wildfire, and would be in the papers in next to no time. The Director had never had any cause to think highly of newspaper reporters, particularly of their scientific accuracy.

From midday to two o’clock he sat alone in his office, wrestling with the most difficult situation he had ever experienced. It was utterly antipathetic to his nature to announce any result or to take steps on the basis of a result until it had been repeatedly checked and cross-checked. Yet would it be right for him to maintain silence for a fortnight or more? It would be two or three weeks at least before every facet of the matter were fully investigated. Could he afford the time? For perhaps the tenth time he worked through Weichart’s argument. He could see no flaw in it.

At length he called in his secretary.

“Please will you ask Caltech to fix me a seat on the night plane to Washington, the one that leaves about nine o’clock? Then get Dr Ferguson on the phone.”

James Ferguson was a big noise in the National Science Foundation, controlling all the activities of the Foundation in physics, astronomy, and mathematics. He had been much surprised at Herrick’s phone call of the previous day. It was quite unlike Herrick to fix appointments at one day’s notice.

“I can’t imagine what can have bitten Herrick,” he told his wife at breakfast, “to come chasing over to Washington like this. He was quite insistent about it. Sounded agitated, so I said I’d pick him up at the airport.”

“Well, an occasional mystery is good for the system,” said his wife. “You’ll know soon enough.”

On the way from the airport to the city, Herrick would commit himself to nothing but conventional trivialities. It was not until he was in Ferguson’s office that he came to the issue.