He got no response; Jeff Arnold was oblivious to the moment, a man utterly defeated, beyond solace or action or answer ... but already a few of his techs were huddled about the panel, consulting, viewing the Equate Constant and frantically taking notes. Mandleco shoved his way through them. "I demand to know the meaning of this!" he yelped. * * * * * It was Sheila Carmack who answered, her voice on the high edge of hysteria. "_Meaning?_ I think it might mean," she said, "that ECAIAC has also had a recent indulgence for the _whodunits_. But with a smattering of confusion, wouldn't you say? Or would you say a distortion of the detectival? Perhaps a disenchantment," she murmured ... this was too absurd, too delicious. "Ellery Sherlock!" she choked, and the thought of it seemed to break her up. In the general hysteria they paid no heed to Raoul Beardsley. He had regained his composure, and far down in his eyes something leaped into rapt expression; he adjusted his glasses and peered around cautiously, beaming. He beamed at them all, and had to suppress an inane glee.... Not glee as he observed Pederson, who stood there scowling into space as though at some incredible absurdity. Suddenly Pederson straightened, and there was something strangely different ... his gaze as it met Beardsley's was neither shocked nor accusing but held an expression of boundless sadness. _So Pederson knew. At last the poor fellow had found that other answer...._ Beardsley had been expecting it. He could almost sense the man's thoughts going to and fro, like a shuttle, weaving all the facts into fabric.... And Pederson's voice, ineffably sad now, regretful now: "So I was right the first time. The tapes. It _was_ the tapes. But even without that I ought to have known! The answer was there, you handed it to us, but it was like looking straight into the sun--" He paused. Did he expect Beardsley to say something? Beardsley looked up at him and blinked. * * * * * "_Motives_," Pederson said accusingly. "There was your theme from the first! You were relentless, you pursued it to perfection, you laid our motives bare and you beat them raw, each and every one. Oh, I grant you it was masterful! It was the Beardsley of old! You managed to keep us off balance every moment--" He wet his lips. "What was it, Beardsley? A compulsion, some grotesque need to squeeze us all down to microscopic size first? Oh, you enjoyed doing that! I watched you. You enjoyed it in a way that--" He shook his head, glanced sorrowfully at the equate-panel. "And this ... was it all for this? An achievement--an absurdity. Ellery Sherlock!" he said with a shudder. "In Heaven's name, WHY? You didn't really expect to carry it off? No, don't answer! It's not important now--" Beardsley shrugged in remote annoyance. Must the man use such puerile methods?