"Where?" He stroked his beard. "Is he the Len downstairs in the beer hall?" "Of course!" "I'm afraid I didn't make the connection." He felt two other minds run like hounds down the same trail. Lee studied the painting. "Why does your husband hate Talent?" "Is this a survey?" Lee grinned. "I'm the lobbyist for the Guggenheim Foundation. Asking that kind of question is a reflex." The girl walked around the room. She looked out the window and stretched. Sordman bellowed lust at her flanks and the long curve of her hips. "Why do men do anything?" Raven yawned. "When he was in Voc school some kid took him in the back room and showed him some tricks. Maybe that did it. Is there a psycher in the house?" "There is," George said. "Is Citizen Smith an astronautical engineer?" "You could say so. He works on instruments for space labs." "That's funny." George stared at the sun flashing on the far-off ocean. "I remember I felt bitter once because I couldn't be a space engineer. I wanted to build rockets and ride to the planets. But the Voc people told me I was too weak in math. So I became a healer of the psyche and I learned my love for rockets was a hunger for power. But still I love the brutes and now I'm an old man I still sometimes wish I'd been an engineer." "That's too bad," the girl said politely. "Yes. I suppose your husband feels that way about art?" "He gets drunk about it sometimes." "Double motive!" Sordman said. "One conscious," George said, "plain jealousy. The other half-conscious--resentment. Nobody kills at random. There's always a reason why he took these lives instead of others." "Plus a lot of self-pity," Lee said, "and I think his wife despises him." "What are you talking about?" Raven said. "What did you say about me?" "We think we've got a suspect," Sordman said. "I didn't do it!" "I'm going to probe your husband." "My husband hates Talent." "We have to hurry," Sordman said. "If your husband's innocent, I'm sorry. We're not saying he's guilty. But I have to examine him." At the door he paused and thought, God of Infinite Compassion.... The girl sat down and stared at the wall. * * * * * Many drugs activate the psi powers. The commonest, available in any drug store, is a pill of codeine and half a dried peyote bean. Leonard Smith had both in his pocket when he ran out the side door of the beer hall. Sordman swore wildly. The girl screamed. The men, the hunters of witches and killers, either froze or shouted and ran to the door. Only John Dyer and two others ran shouting down the hall. Sordman ran to the door and saw Smith leap into the elevator. He grabbed a wall phone and dialed the Manager's office. "We've got the killer," he shouted. "His name's Leonard Smith. He's a young man, dark, wiry, good looking, and he's on the elevator going down." "We'll get him!"