at what just happened was a psi something keepin'
violent things from happening?"

"That's it," agreed Brink. "The psi unit made the dryer-door fly off and
knock a pistol out of a man's hand. If they'd dropped the idea of
violence, that would have ended the matter. They didn't."

"I accept it," said Fitzgerald. He gulped. "Because I saw it. A court
wouldn't believe it, though, Mr. Brink!"

"Well?"

"I've been tryin' for months," said Fitzgerald in sudden desperation,
"to find a way to stop what Big Jake's doin'. But he's tricky. He's
organized. He's got smart lawyers. Mr. Brink, if the cops could use what
you've got--" Then he stopped. "It'd never be authorized," he said
bitterly. "They'd never let a cop try it."

"No," agreed Brink. "Until it's believed in it can only be used
privately, for private purposes. Like I've used it. Or Hm-m-m. Do you
fish, or bowl, or play golf, sergeant? I could give you a psi unit
that'd help you quite a bit in such a private purpose."

Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald shook his head.

"Dry-fly fishin's my specialty," he said bitterly, "but no thank you!
When I'm pittin' myself against a trout, it's my private purpose to be a
better fisherman than he's a fish. Usin' what you've got would be like
dynamitin' a stream. No sport in that! No! But this Big Jake, he doesn't
act sporting with the public. I'd give a lot to stop him."

"You'd get no credit for it," said Brink. "No credit at all."

"I'd get the job done!" said Fitzgerald indignantly. "A man likes
credit, but he likes a lot better to get a good job done!"

Brink grinned suddenly.

"Good man!" he said approvingly. "I'll buy your idea, sergeant. If
you'll play fair with a trout, you'll play fair with a crook, and an
Irishman, anyhow, has a sort of inheritance--I'll give you what help I
can, and you'll do things your grandfather would swear was the work of
the Little People. And for a first lesson--"

"What?"

"Big Jake discourages me," said Brink. "So I'll call him up and say I'm
coming to see him. I'll say if he wants this business I'll sell it to
him at a fair price. But I'll say otherwise I'll tell the newspapers
about his threats and the four of his hoods in the hospital and the two
others on the way there. Want to come along?"

Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald reached his hand to where his service
revolver reposed in its holster. Then he drew it away.

"He's a very violent man," he said hopefully. "I wouldn't wonder he