The Senator frowned. "The name is familiar, but--" Then his eyes went wide. "Camberton! You were one of the eight men who--Why, _you're the man who shot Wendell_!" Camberton pulled up an empty lawnchair and sat down. "That's right, Senator; but there's nothing to be afraid of. Would you like to hear about it?" "I suppose I must." The old man's voice was so low that it was scarcely audible. "Tell me--were the other seven released, too? Have--have you all regained your sanity? Do you remember--" He stopped. "Do we remember the extra-sensory perception formula? Yes, we do; all eight of us remember it well. It was based on faulty premises, and incomplete, of course; but in its own way it was workable enough. We have something much better now." The old man shook his head slowly. "I failed, then. Such an idea is as fatal to society as we know it as a virus plague. I tried to keep you men quarantined, but I failed. After all those years of insanity, now the chess game begins; the poker game is over." "It's worse than that," Camberton said, chuckling softly. "Or, actually, it's much better." "I don't understand; explain it to me. I'm an old man, and I may not live to see my world collapse. I hope I don't." Camberton said: "I'll try to explain in words, Senator. They're inadequate, but a fuller explanation will come later." And he launched into the story of the two-decade search of Paul Wendell. CODA--ANDANTINO "Telepathy? Time travel?" After three hours of listening, the ex-President was still not sure he understood. "Think of it this way," Camberton said. "Think of the mind at any given instant as being surrounded by a shield--a shield of privacy--a shield which you, yourself have erected, though unconsciously. It's a perfect insulator against telepathic prying by others. You feel you _have_ to have it in order to retain your privacy--your sense of identity, even. But here's the kicker: even though no one else can get in, _you_ can't get out! "You can call this shield 'self-consciousness'--perhaps _shame_ is a better word. Everyone has it, to some degree; no telepathic thought can break through it. Occasionally, some people will relax it for a fraction of a second, but the instant they receive something, the barrier goes up again." "Then how is telepathy possible? How can you go through it?" The Senator looked puzzled as he thoughtfully tamped tobacco into his briar. "You don't go _through_ it; you go _around_ it." * * * * *