Grant laughed. "My dear, if they're reading your mind without your will, that's not treachery. Frankly, I've studied the problem myself, and I know that such is impossible. In no known science has there ever been a situation where a transmitter can be heard without the transmitter aware of its output. By 'transmitter' I mean people talking, men holding radioactives, radio, subradio, light, sound, and fury. Furthermore, since unwitting aid is ruled out, if such aid is given, it is given willingly. And that, Jenna, I refuse to believe." "Truly?" she pleaded. "I'll stake my life on it," he said. "All the evidence may be damning but somehow, it's too pat. Coincidence may be a little strained, but far from improbable in any sense. Fact of the matter is, Jenna, there's no sense in going out on the Q-T. I'm going out with all recorders open and working furiously, I'm going to record not only my ideas, but my transient thoughts and my overt acts. I'll show 'em a bold front. And, by showing a bold front, I'll win. And if I do not, you'll all know just what goes on and you'll know how to act on the next one." Grant laughed and shook the girl gently. He removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed her wet eyes with it, and told her to get that elfin chin up again. "Thanks," she whispered, the tears welling up again. "Thanks, Jack ... for ... faith!" * * * * * When the door opened to admit Lindsay, her face was once more composed. She put down her cigarette and said: "Any ideas, Ralph?" His worried face grew darker. "It seems to get down to the problem of defusing a bomb that explodes when you approach it with that intent." Grant laughed. "As I said before, we can detonate 'em but it's hard on the personnel." "Oh, Jack!" cried Jenna. "Well," he grinned, "it's true. And regardless of whether we lose a few fellows who'd prefer death anyway, we are most definitely keeping the production areas uncontaminated. That's something." Lindsay scowled. "It's not good enough," he said. "A man's life should be worth more than that." Grant shook his head. "It's more than mere production, Ralph. Production means many lives. And is one man's life worth more than many men's?" "To me, my life is." Grant laughed, taking the sting out of his matter-of-fact statement, "You're selfish." Lindsay nodded glumly. "I admit it. How're you going to tackle that one out there?" "Boldly, brashly, and brazenly. Whatever agency is manipulating these things will find me slightly different. I hope I'm confusing enough to make them wonder." "I wish--" said Lindsay. "Forget it," said Jack. "I've got to go, and there's little sense in stewing about it. I'll be back, and then we can handle the rest of these things with ease. No chin up, fella. You're in the hot spot of doing a hard job." "I know," he muttered. When he looked up, Grant had left.