Brandt pulled a notebook from his coat pocket and checked his present range limits against the figures which he had entered on his past “spell days.” It was still about two hundred yards! His range had apparently stabilized itself at that distance. Only the _duration_ of his effective control was increasing. The entries on the page read: March 14---3 min. March 31--12 min. April 19--39 min. June 3--1 hr., 17 min. August 14--2 hr., 58 min. September 24--4 hr., 19 min. He closed the notebook and carefully tucked it into his breast pocket. Would today, November 4, follow the general pattern? If it did, he knew that he would maintain control for almost eight hours! He shrugged, turning his attentions to the people around him. Slowly he probed their minds. He crept into dark corners and trod tortuous, narrow paths, never really knowing what marvelous or horrible thing would pop up at the next turning. It was a thrilling game--and sometimes a shocking one. Incredibly primitive and candid at times were the thoughts of the innocent-looking girls, especially the slim brunette at the-- “Mr. Brandt!” He looked up, startled. His private secretary was standing in front of his desk, and from the annoyed tone of her voice he knew that she must have spoken to him several times in an unsuccessful attempt to gain his attention. “Yes, Miss Cartwright?” He spoke guilelessly, pretending to be deeply preoccupied with the papers in his hand. The girl’s eyes seemed to be laughing at him. Brandt wished that he knew what she was thinking. Why, he asked himself for the hundredth time, did Ellen have to be one of the very few people whose minds remained always closed to him? Dear Ellen, aloof Ellen--Miss Cartwright! How he ached to touch her! Her smile did not change. “Mr. Blanding would like to see you, Mr. Brandt,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. He watched her move back to her desk, concentrating a question at her and getting no response. Shrugging, he arose quickly and left the office. Blanding greeted him at the door. “Come in, Neville,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you.” With a sudden, sharp apprehensiveness Brandt probed at Blanding’s mind. Nothing. It had happened before, and the completeness of the mental shields which were always drawn closely around Blanding and Ellen excited fantastic possibilities. Yet, were they fantastic? If Brandt himself was a neophytic telepath, the probability of there being others more advanced, and with complete control and direction of the power, must surely exist. And why stop at two or three? Why not a well-developed society of telepaths still hidden from the government and successfully avoiding detection? Brandt stared uneasily at the smiling Blanding and a sudden, overmastering fear pulsed through him. “Of course, there might be two societies,” Blanding said, his expression utterly impassive. “One hidden from the government, and one within the government itself.”