“He says that it can’t be happening,” Malone said, “and if it is we’re all screwy. Now, right or wrong, that isn’t an opinion that gives us any handle to work with.” “No,” Boyd said reflectively. “A certain amount of comfort, to be sure, but no handles.” “Sir Lewis Carter, on the other hand—” Malone said. He fumbled through some of the piles of paper until he had located the ones the president of the Psychical Research Society had sent. “Sir Lewis Carter,” he went on, “does seem to be doing some pretty good work. At least, some of the more modern stuff he sent over looks pretty solid. They’ve been doing quite a bit of research into the subject, and their theories seem to be all right, or nearly all right, to me. Of course, I’m not an expert.” “Who is?” Boyd said. “Except for O’Connor, of course.” “Well, somebody is,” Malone said. “Whoever’s doing all this, for instance. And the theories do seem okay. In most cases, for instance, they agree with O’Connor’s work, though they’re not in complete agreement.” “I should think so,” Boyd said. “O’Connor wouldn’t recognize an astral plane if TWA were putting them into service.” “I don’t mean that sort of thing,” Malone said. “There’s lots about astral bodies and ghosts, ectoplasm, Transcendental Yoga, theosophy, deros, the Great Pyramid, Atlantis, Mu, norns, and other such ridiculous pets. That’s just silly, as far as I can see. But what they have to say about parapsychology and psionics as such does seem to be reasonably accurate.” “I suppose so,” Boyd said tiredly. “Okay, then,” Malone said. “Did anybody notice anything in that pile of stuff that might conceivably have any bearing whatever on our problems?” “I did,” Boyd said. “Or I think I did.” “You both did,” Her Majesty said. “And so did I, when I looked through it. But I didn’t bother with it. I dismissed it.” “Why?” Malone said. “Because I don’t think it’s true,” she said. “However, my opinion is really only an opinion.” She smiled around at the others. Malone picked up a thick sheaf of papers from one of the piles of his desk. “Let’s get straight what it is we’re talking about,” he said. “All right?” “Anything’s all right with me,” Boyd said. “I’m easy to please.” Malone nodded. “Now, this writer—what’s his name?” he said. He glanced at the copy of the cover page. “_Minds and Morons_,” he read. “By Cartier Taylor.” “Great title,” Boyd said. “Does he say which is which?”