"No, I guess you can't," Derwin said. "Or they'd have found out about it before this." He considered a moment. "How about us setting up some kind of code," he suggested. "I'll ask questions, and you nod if I'm right, and shake your head if I'm wrong?" The boy made no answer except for his continued expectant gaze. Derwin shrugged. "O.K. If you can't, you can't. The profs had a theory that you couldn't understand what they said, but that you got some of the meaning of the words from the sound and the inflections." Still there was no response. * * * * * "Maybe you can read my mind?" Derwin waited a moment. "You're a strange one, whatever the answers might be. When you eight mutants were found in the lost islands area of the Lake of the Woods the doctor who had brought you there--evidently when you were very young--had been dead for years. He had been a famous genetics specialist, and had probably cared for you from birth. The profs even believe he must have influenced your development before birth. Anyway, there was no doubt that you were all geniuses of a high order. But there was a screw loose somewhere. When you were brought to the University of Minnesota you soon turned into a pack of murderers. "And you were brilliant enough to get by with it for months before the authorities learned what you were doing. The other seven were killed, either fighting or trying to get away. You're the last one left now. Wouldn't you like to make your peace--before it's too late for you, too?" There was no suggestion of truculence or stubbornness in the boy's lack of response. It was as though Derwin's statements had not merited answers, or that the answers had been too obvious to need saying. Derwin leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. "All right," he said. "If you aren't interested in that, let's get back to your immediate problem. You know what you were arrested for?" He did not wait for an answer. "You're accused of killing at least thirty people," he said. "And they have plenty of proof--enough to hang you. I'd say your only defense would be that you didn't know what you were doing." Derwin made an impatient motion to rise. "Oh, there's no use going on," he said. "Either you can't understand me, or you know all this already." Abruptly the boy was nodding his head: nodding it vigorously. Derwin remained sitting. "Why are you doing that?" he asked. The boy blinked his eyes, pressing the lids tightly together, and opened them again. "What's that mean? Do you want help of some kind?" Derwin paused. "I'd like to do what I can, but if you don't tell me, or show me--how can I help you? If you have any way of communicating, use it now, or we'll never get anywhere." The boy's forehead creased with lines of effort. His mouth opened--but no sound came out.