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had to leave by the next train.''
    Bond laughed. He made a threatening move toward her. "If I thought there was any hope of being kicked out of this damn place I'd kiss you again.''
    She said, "Don't be silly. Now pick up your things. You've got half an hour's traction.'' She smiled grimly. "That ought to keep you quiet.''
    Bond said morosely, "Oh, all right. But only on condition you let me take you out on your next day off.''
    "We'll see about that. It depends how you behave at the next treatment.'' She held open the door. Bond picked up his clothes and went out, almost colliding with a man coming down the passage. It was Count Lippe, in slacks and a gay windcheater. He ignored Bond. With a smile and a slight bow he said to the girl, "Here comes the lamb to the slaughter. I hope you're not feeling too strong today.'' His eyes twinkled charmingly.
    The girl said briskly, "Just get ready, please. I shan't be a moment putting Mr. Bond on the traction table.'' She moved off down the passage with Bond following.
    She opened the door of a small anteroom, told Bond to put his things down on a chair, and pulled aside plastic curtains that formed a partition. Just inside the curtains was an odd-looking kind of surgical couch in leather and gleaming aluminum. Bond didn't like the look of it at all. While the girl fiddled with a series of straps attached to three upholstered sections that appeared to be on runners, Bond examined the contraption suspiciously. Below the couch was a stout electric motor on which a plate announced that this was the Hercules Motorized Traction Table. A power drive in the shape of articulated rods stretched upward from the motor to each of the three cushioned sections of the couch and terminated in tension screws to which the three sets of straps were attached. In front of the raised portion where the patient's head would lie, and approximately level with his face, was a large dial marked in lbs.-pressure up to 200. After 150 lbs. the numerals were in red. Below the headrest were grips for the patient's hands. Bond noted gloomily that the leather on the grips was stained with, presumably, sweat.
    "Lie face downward here, please.'' The girl held the straps ready. Bond said obstinately, "Not until you tell me what this thing does. I don't like the look of it.''
    The girl said patiently, "This is simply a machine for stretching your spine. You've got mild spinal lesions. It will help to free those. And at the base of your spine you've got some right sacroiliac strain. It'll help that too. You won't find it bad at all. Just a stretching sensation. It's very soothing, really. Quite a lot of patients fall asleep.''
    "This one won't,'' said Bond firmly. "What strength are you going to give me? Why are those top figures in red? Are you sure I'm not going to be pulled apart?''
    The girl said with a touch of impatience, "Don't be silly. Of course if there was too much tension it might be dangerous. But I shall be starting you only at 90 pounds and in a quarter of an hour I shall come and see how you're getting on and probably put you up to 120. Now come along. I've got another patient waiting.''
    Reluctantly Bond climbed up on the couch and lay on his face with his nose and mouth buried in a deep cleft in the headrest. He said, his voice muffled by the leather, "If you kill me, I'll sue.''
    He felt the straps being tightened round his chest and then round his hips. The girl's skirt brushed the side of his face as she bent to reach the control lever beside the big dial. The motor began to whine. The straps tightened and then relaxed, tightened and relaxed. Bond felt as if his body was being stretched by giant hands. It was a curious sensation, but not unpleasant. With difficulty Bond raised his head. The needle on the dial stood at 90. Now the machine was making a soft iron hee-hawing, like a mechanical donkey, as the gears alternatively engaged and disengaged to produce the rhythmic traction. "Are you all