Malone thought for a second. "Sure it does," he said. "I'd say it was a matter of resistance. Moving an inanimate object is pretty simple--comparatively, anyhow--because inert matter has no mental resistance." "And moving oneself?" Sir Kenneth said. "There's some resistance there, probably," Malone said. "But you'll remember that the Fueyo system of training for teleportation involved overcoming your own mental resistance to the idea." "True," Sir Kenneth said. "'Tis true. Then let us agree that it takes great power to effect this change. Where does our course point from that agreement, Sirrah?" "Next," Malone said, "we have to do a little supposing. This project must be handled by a fairly large group, since no individual can do it alone. This large group has to be telepathic--and not only for the reasons Dr. O'Connor and I specified." "And why else?" Sir Kenneth demanded. "They've also got to know exactly when to make this victim of theirs change his mind," Malone said. "Right?" "Correct," Sir Kenneth said. "We've got to look for a widespread organization of telepaths," Malone said, "with enough mental discipline to hold onto a tough mental shield. Strong, trained, sane men." "A difficult assignment," Sir Kenneth commented. "Well," Malone said, "suppose you hold on for a second--don't go away--and let me figure something out." "I shall wait," sir Kenneth said, "without." "Without what?" Malone murmured. But there was no time for games. Now, then, he told himself--and sneezed. He shook his head, cursed softly and went on. Now, then.... * * * * * There was an organization, spread all over the Western world, and with what were undoubtedly secret branches in the Soviet Union. The organization had to be an old one--because it had to have trained telepaths, of a high degree of efficiency. And training took time. There was something else to consider, too. In order to organize to such a degree that they could wreak the complete havoc they were wreaking, the organization couldn't be completely secret; there are always leaks, always suspicious events, and a society that spent time covering all of those up would have no time for anything else. So the organization had to be a known one, in the Western world at least--a known group, masquerading as something else. So far, everything made sense. Malone frowned and tried to think. Where, he wondered, did he go from here? Maybe this time a list would help. He found a pencil and a piece of paper, and headed the paper: _Organization_. Then he started putting down what he knew about it, and what he'd figured out: 1. Large 2. Old 3. Disguised It sounded, so far, just a little like Frankenstein's Monster wearing a red wig. But what else did he know about it? After a second's thought, he murmured: "Nothing," and put the pencil down.