"I get it now. I've got to approach it relaxed, not all tensed up like I was at first," he finally realized. But when it came to probing into and reading the whole mind, into its past thoughts and knowledges, no. Just that ... no! Pessimistically he began to feel he wasn't going to be able to do as much with his "mind-reading" as he--and his superiors--had hoped. Did this mean, he wondered disconsolately as he went to his stateroom, that he was to be a failure in the Secret Service? Or, he brightened momently, could he develop other methods of ferreting out information? But that, he told himself honestly, was out. What did he know about detective work? The SS already had the best detectives in the Universe. This dark mood persisted while he went to bed and finally dropped off to sleep. But when he awoke the next morning he felt cheerful again. He had a lot--and he would get more. He ate a good breakfast, then went back to his deck chair and there, resolutely, he opened his mind once more to general impressions. He would keep working at it, and more was bound to come. Look how far he'd advanced already. A lot further than when he had started. And at that, he probably--no, undoubtedly--could do more than any of the other fellows on certain problems. As far as he knew--and Dad and Admiral Rogers had talked as though he were the only one they knew about--no one else could read even surface thoughts. So he kept diligently at it. And very soon, so strongly he deduced the mind must be very close to him, he again found those sinister impressions that had bothered him so much. This time he glanced about, in apparently casual curiosity, yet touched mind after mind of those nearest him. Then hit pay dirt! Why, it was that bluff, hearty-looking, red-headed man in the third chair to his right. He didn't look vicious, that was certain, though there was a grim set to his jaw. Yet his surface thoughts showed the man to be hard, cold and ruthless--a pure killer type. Hanson sensed he was one of those men who have such a will to power that the lives and rights of others are held cheaply, contemptuously. The kind who, if another gets in his way, removes him ... but carefully, lest his own highly-valuable skin be put in jeopardy. If he could get some one else to do the dirty work, so much the better. Such conscienceless killers were, Hanlon knew, usually arrant cowards. There was someone on this ship who was in this man's way--of that Hanlon felt sure. The killer was determined to destroy this other the first chance he got. His mind was now weighing chances and possible opportunities--and Hanlon read and learned. Yes, this must be one of those "interesting people" that unknown SS tipster back on Terra had mentioned. Was the victim another? Probably. For Hanlon had not yet read any thoughts in this killer's mind about any confederates.