"Things are going wrong in the Congressional computer-secretaries," Burris said. "So I assign you to the case. You come back to me with three spies, and the trouble stops. And what other information have you got?" "Plenty," Malone said, and stopped for thought. There was a long pause. "All this business about mysterious psionic faculties," Burris said, "comes direct from the testimony of that sweet little old twitch. Which she is. Dr. O'Connor, for instance, has told you in so many words that there's no such thing as this mysterious force. And if you don't want to take the word of the nation's foremost authority, there's this character from the Psychical Research Society--Carter, or whatever his name is. Carter told you he'd never heard of such a thing." "But that doesn't mean there isn't such a thing," Malone said. "Even your own star witness," Burris said, "even the Queen herself, told you it couldn't be done." "Nevertheless--" Malone began. But he felt puzzled. There was no way, he decided, to finish a sentence that started with _nevertheless_. It was the wrong kind of word. "What are you trying to do?" Burris said. "Beat your head against a stone wall?" Malone realized that that was just what he felt like. Of course, Burris thought the stone wall was his psionic theory. Malone knew that the stone wall was Andrew J. Burris. But it didn't matter, he thought confusedly. Where there's a stone, there's a way. "I feel," he said carefully, "like a man with a stone head." "And I don't blame you," Burris said in an understanding tone. "Here you are trying to make evidence to fit your theories. What real evidence is there, Malone, that these three spies ... these three comic-opera spies--are innocent?" "What evidence is there that they're guilty?" Malone said. "Now, listen, Chief--" "Don't call me Chief," Burris murmured. "Another five minutes," Malone said in a sudden rage, "and I won't even call you." "Malone!" Burris said. Malone swallowed hard. "Sorry," he said at last. "But isn't it just barely possible that these three spies aren't the real criminals? Suppose you were a spy." "All right," Burris said. "I'm a spy." Something in his tone made Malone look at him with a sudden suspicion. Burris, he thought, was humoring him. Is it possible, Malone asked himself, that _I_ am the one who is as a little child? Little children, he told himself with decision, do not capture Russian spies and then argue about it. They go home, eat supper and go to bed. * * * * * He stopped thinking about sleep in a hurry, and got back to the business at hand. "If you were a spy," he said, "and you knew that a lot of other spies had been arrested and charged with the crimes you were committing, what would you do?" Burris appeared to think deeply. "I would celebrate," he said at last, in a judicious tone. "I mean, would you just go on with the same crimes?" Malone said.