"Telepathy," Her Majesty said patiently, "is an extremely complex affair. It involves a sort of meshing with the mind of this other person. It has nothing--absolutely nothing--in common with this simple 'squirting' of thoughts across space, as if they were orange pips you were trying to put into a wastebasket. No, Sir Kenneth, I cannot believe in what Mr. Taylor says." "But it's still possible," Malone said. "Oh," Her Majesty said, "it's certainly possible. But I should think that if any telepaths were around, and if they were changing people's minds by 'squirting' at them, I would know it." Malone frowned. "Maybe you would at that," he said. "I guess you would." "Not to mention," Boyd put in, "that if you were going to control everything we've come across like that you'd need an awful lot of telepathic operators." "That's true," Malone admitted. "And the objections seem to make some sense. But what else is there to go on?" "I don't know," Boyd said. "I haven't the faintest idea. And I'm rapidly approaching the stage where I don't care." "Well," Malone said, heaving a sigh, "let's keep looking." He bent down and picked up another sheaf of copies from the Psychical Research Society. "After all," he said, without much hope, "you never know." VII Malone looked around the office of Andrew J. Burris as if he'd never seen it before. He felt tired, and worn out, and depressed; it had been a long night, and here it was morning and the head of the FBI was talking to him about his report. It was, Malone told himself heavily, a hell of a life. "Now, Malone," Burris said in a kindly voice, "this is a very interesting report." "Yes, sir," Malone said automatically. "A very interesting report indeed, Kenneth," Burris went on, positively bursting with good-fellowship. "Thank you, sir," Malone said dully. Burris beamed a little more. "You've done a fine job," he said, "a really fine job. Hardly on the job any time at all, and here you've managed to get all three of the culprits responsible." "Now, wait a minute," Malone said in sudden panic. "That isn't what I said." "No?" Burris said, looking a little surprised. "Not at all," Malone said. "I don't think those three spies have anything to do with this at all. Not a thing." There was a brief silence, during which Burris' surprise seemed to expand like a gas and fill the room. "But they've confessed," he said at last. "Their job was to try and get information, and also to disrupt our own work here." "I know all that," Malone said. "But--" Burris held up a pink, patient hand. Malone stared at it, fascinated. It had five pink, patient fingers on it. "Malone," Burris said slowly, "just what's bothering you? Don't you think those men _are_ spies? Is that it?" "Spies?" Malone said, slightly confused. "You know," Burris said. "The men you arrested, Malone. The men you wrote this report about."