“About seven thousand scattered throughout the country,” Blanding replied. “There may be an even larger number of untutored ones like yourself who haven’t been discovered yet.” “And now you think I’m ready to join the others?” “We do--yes.” Brandt leaned eagerly forward in his chair. “This evening,” Blanding answered his unspoken question. “Cartwright and I will take you to meet them.” Brandt returned to his own office, and nervously, impatiently, waited for the day to end. He watched Ellen Cartwright, who remained busily absorbed in her work, and did not once glance his way. He sent feelers out to her again and again. But she gave no sign that she was aware of them, and when he probed, her mind was still impenetrable. Toward evening, fatigue set in. He could no longer control his telepathy. But he was accustomed to that--his untutored talent always ran wild after several hours. Kaleidoscopic waves of thought assailed his mind, jabbing at his senses until his head rang with a thousand pulses. Pain throbbed in his temples and at the base of his skull. Over and over, agonizing shafts of pain shot up to the top of his head until the very hairs on his scalp ached. He clenched his fists and steeled himself to endure the affliction in silence. Abruptly, the torment ended. He felt empty. His tensed body sagged for an instant and when he opened his eyes everyone had gone. The rooms were still and dark except for the thin, barely visible filament of light that seeped under the closed door of Blanding’s private office. Brandt relaxed in the soothing quiet. Faint murmurings came to him from the busy street below, but they were like gentle lullabies in contrast to the telepathic noise he had just endured. Presently, Blanding emerged from his office. “Are you ready, Neville?” he asked. Ellen stood quietly at his side. Her eyes were compassionate and Brandt suddenly realized that she understood what untutored telepathy was like. But was there _more_ than pity in her feelings for him? Brandt earnestly hoped so. He followed them out of the building. The streets were still alive with people, and the sounds of their thoughts began to creep into his mind. Direct and indirect, controlled and uncontrolled, meaningful and meaningless, the thought sounds clashed tumultuously within him. He stepped onto the sidewalk strip beside Blanding, while Ellen moved quickly to his other side. _Don’t go with them!_ A powerful, directed thought plunged through the noise and echoed forcefully in his mind. _Don’t go with them!_ Brandt felt the pressure of Ellen’s hand on his arm increase, ever so slightly. For the first time he heard, her mental voice speaking to him directly. _Neville. Trust me. You must trust me_. _Don’t go!_ came the warning voice. _They’re government people!_ “Spotters!” Ellen’s voice was suddenly frightened, unsure. “We will have to hurry.”· She shuddered and urged him along the walk. “But that man is a telepath,” Brandt objected.