Dr. Harman opened his mouth, apparently changed his mind, and shut it again. The little old lady turned to him. "Were you going to ask why I bothered to prove anything to Mr. Malone?" she said. "Of course you were, and I shall tell you. It's because Mr. Malone wanted to believe me. He wants me. He needs me. I'm a telepath, and that's enough for Mr. Malone. Isn't it?" "Gur," Malone said, taken by surprise. After a second he added: "I guess so." "You see, Doctor?" the little old lady said. "But you--" Dr. Harman began. "I read minds," the little old lady said. "That's right, Doctor. That's what makes me a telepath." Malone's brain was whirling rapidly, like a distant galaxy. Telepath was a nice word, he thought. How do you telepath from a road? Simple. The road is paved. Malone thought that was pretty funny, but he didn't laugh. He thought he would never laugh again. He wanted to cry, a little, but he didn't think he'd be able to manage that either. He twisted his hat, but it didn't make him feel any better. Gradually, he became aware that the little old lady was talking to Dr. Harman again. "But," she said, "since it will make you feel so much better, Doctor, we give you our Royal permission to retire, and to speak to Mr. Malone alone." "Malone alone," Dr. Harman muttered. "Hmm. My. Well." He turned and seemed to be surprised that Malone was actually standing near him. "Yes," he said. "Well. Mr. Alone--Mr. Malone--please, whoever you are, just come into my office, please?" Malone looked at the little old lady. One of her eyes closed and opened. It was an unmistakable wink. Malone grinned at her in what he hoped was a cheerful manner. "All right," he said to the psychiatrist, "let's go." He turned with the barest trace of regret, and Boyd followed him. Leaving the little old lady and, unfortunately, the startling Miss Wilson, behind, the procession filed back into Dr. Harman's office. The doctor closed the door, and leaned against it for a second. He looked as though someone had suddenly revealed to him that the world was square. But when he spoke his voice was almost even. "Sit down, gentlemen," he said, and indicated chairs. "I really--well, I don't know what to say. All this time, all these years, she's been reading my mind! My mind. She's been reading ... looking right into my mind, or whatever it is." "Whatever what is?" Malone asked, sincerely interested. He had dropped gratefully into a chair near Boyd's, across the desk from Dr. Harman. "Whatever my _mind_ is," Dr. Harmon said. "Reading it. Oh, my." "Dr. Harman," Malone began, but the psychiatrist gave him a bright blank stare. "Don't you understand?" he said. "She's a telepath." "We--" The phone on Dr. Harman's desk chimed gently. He glanced at it and said: "Excuse me. The phone." He picked up the receiver and said: "Hello?" There was no image on the screen. But the voice was image enough. "This is Andrew J. Burris," it said. "Is Kenneth J. Malone there?"