The next day Hanlon again sat most of the time in the lounge, his eyes closed, letting his mind soak up all the impressions and vibrations he could. When one seemed particularly strong, he tried to follow it and locate the person--with his mind, not his eyes--and read the whole thought. Mostly he found again excitement and pleasure. Almost everyone on board seemed to be having a grand time, and enjoying the trip to the utmost. It was what might be expected--a gay, carefree holiday crowd. Yet there was, occasionally caught, that sinister undercurrent that had so puzzled him since he first sensed it the day before. It was not prominent at any time, nor continuous ... more as though only one or two minds held the thought, and those not in the lounge all the time, but wandering in and out. He tried to analyze the feeling of those thoughts. They were malevolent--that he had sensed from the beginning. And finally, later in the afternoon, the person or persons thinking them evidently spent some time near him in the lounge, for the feeling became much clearer to the SS man. Hanlon still kept his eyes closed. He made no effort at this time to try to identify who was giving out those menacing sensations. That would come later. At the moment he was more interested in trying to work out just what those sinister impressions meant. And gradually his mind was forced to the conclusion that it could mean only one thing--a killing. Hanlon was devoting almost all his mind to this problem when another mental impression intruded, and grew stronger, more demanding of his attention. It was a feeling of sympathetic concern, yet diffident, apologetic. He felt it growing stronger, seeming to be approaching him, to be directed at him. For the moment he left off worrying about the other matter, and watched this new thought. By the instant it was growing stronger, and closer. He knew that, some way. He directed his attention toward what he believed was its source, but idly, half angry at it for interrupting his more important thoughts. It was in front of him ... and suddenly, like a bright, white beam of light, his mind reached out and touched directly the mind holding that thought. Touched it ... it was instantly, unbelievably, _inside_ that mind! He was able, actually, to _read_ the surface thoughts! Clearly, distinctly, as though it were his own mind, Hanlon knew he was one with a deck steward, who had noticed him sitting there all day and the day before, with closed eyes and strained face. (His efforts at concentration must have been too apparent--he'd have to learn to guard that; to keep his face more impassive.) Now the steward was coming to see if he was ill. And at that instant a soft, apologetic voice spoke from in front of him--spoke words he had already read in that mind. "Beg pardon, Mr. Hanlon, sir, but is anything wrong?" He opened his eyes lazily, and let a smile break out as he saw the solicitous face of the white-coated attendant.