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Eisler was quiet for a minute. “I can’t say, Mr. Connolly. Some things even I can’t answer.” He paused. Then, more lightly, “Maybe you will tell me. You must use your Oppenheimer Principle-your leap in the dark. On the map. How is your other problem coming along?”

Connolly felt he was being diverted. His ear searched for nuance in an idle phrase. But clearly Eisler wished to be left alone with his demons. “Not very well,” he said, playing along.

“Ah,” Eisler said. “But you will get there, I’m sure. The elegant solution. Yes, I think so. But now-you don’t mind? — a little sleep.”

Connolly said nothing, and after a while the breathing deepened and he fell in with it, so that he wondered whether they’d talked at all or whether he’d been having a conversation with the dark.

The next morning brought a flood of visitors. Weber was there early, fluttering, then a graver Fermi, then Bethe and what seemed to be all of Bathtub Row. They nodded politely to Connolly or ignored him, drawn to Eisler with an embarrassed mix of concern and prurient curiosity, like people at a highway accident. No one stayed long, and no one talked about the radiation. Once in the room, good instincts and duty satisfied, they were at a loss, talking around the incident until they could excuse themselves to work. Only Teller asked for details, precise and brisk, a consulting resident brought in for a second opinion. By the time Emma arrived, Connolly was dressed, waiting to be released. She looked at him in surprise, expecting to find him in bed, and her eyes filled with relief. She smiled at him, a broad, involuntary grin, then caught herself and turned to Eisler, the ostensible point of the visit.

“You too, Mrs. Pawlowski,” Eisler said. “Has everyone heard?”

“News travels fast,” she said.

“Bad news.”

“Well, I don’t think Johanna Weber makes the distinction.”

Eisler laughed out loud. Connolly realized it was the first time he’d ever heard Eisler laugh, and for a second he was filled with an odd embarrassed pride that it was Emma who could make the joke. It flustered her, however, and she said apologetically, “How are you feeling?”

“No, don’t be somber,” Eisler said gently. “Everyone here plays the nurse. Tell me the gossip. What else does Frau Weber say?”

“She’s baking you a cake.”

“Excellent,” Eisler said, smiling, and Connolly thought again how little he knew anyone. Last night he had spoken to a dead man, and now he saw the eyes were alive and playful, taking delight in a young woman. Had he been like this at Gottingen with Oppenheimer, a world ago?

They talked, making an awkward joke about angel food, but it was Connolly she had come to see and her eyes kept moving away, sliding over to where he sat on his bed, the night screen now gone. Eisler, courtly in his smock, seemed not to notice, but Mills caught it immediately. He stood in the doorway, looking at them like three points of a triangle, and Connolly could see him putting it together, a theorem proof. He raised an eyebrow at Connolly as he walked in.

“Lieutenant Mills,” Eisler said. “At last, a visitor for Mr. Connolly. Or have you come to arrest me?”

“Arrest?” Mills said.

Eisler leaned forward conspiratorially to Emma. “My parking tickets. We have to give them to him and then he scolds us. What do you do with them?” he said to Mills. “Do you make the apologies?” Then, again to Emma, “But I can’t help it. If the space is straight, I can do it, but to back up for those little slots? It’s too difficult. My driving-” He waved his hand.

Mills smiled, a little surprised by the party atmosphere. “Parking’s the least of it,” he said to Emma, joining in. “He’s a menace behind the wheel.”

“Not only there, it seems,” Eisler said smoothly, indicating his presence in the bed.

No one knew what to say. Connolly felt the air go out of the room. In the awkward silence, Mills turned to him. “You look all right,” he said.

“I’m just waiting for my walking papers.”

Eisler, aware that the atmosphere had changed, now looked moodily down at the bed.

“I’d better be going,” Emma said, getting up. She went over to Eisler and put her hand on his arm. “You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

He patted her hand. “No, nothing. Mr. Connolly here will get my few things,” he said, a question to Connolly, who nodded. “It’s absurd. I’m still all right, but now I’m a prisoner here. My jail,” he said, with a nod to the room.

“Just walk out,” Emma said, sympathetic. “They can’t make you stay.”

“But where will I go? No, this suits me.”

“C’mon, Mike,” Mills said, fidgeting, “let’s go fix you up with the doc.”

“Mr. Connolly,” Eisler said as Emma and Mills headed for the door. “You don’t mind? A few things?”

“No, of course not.”

“Some clothes. I don’t want to be in bed. I’m not an invalid. Not so soon.”

“Do you have the key?”

“The key?” Eisler smiled. “It’s not locked. We never lock things at the project. There’s nothing to steal.”

“Anything else? Books?”