? There wasn't
any chance of--"

"Of curing him?" Dr. O'Connor said. "None, I'm afraid. We did at one
time feel that there had been a mental breakdown early in the boy's
life, and, indeed, it's perfectly possible that he was normal for the
first year or so. The records we did manage to get on that period,
however, were very much confused, and there was never any way of telling
anything at all, for certain. It's easy to see what caused the
confusion, of course: telepathy in an imbecile is rather an oddity--and
any normal adult would probably be rather hesitant about admitting that
he was capable of it. That's why we have not found another subject; we
must merely sit back and wait for lightning to strike."

Burris sighed. "I see your problem," he said. "But what happened to this
imbecile boy of yours?"

"Very sad," Dr. O'Connor said. "Six months ago, at the age of fifteen,
the boy simply died. He simply--gave up, and died."

"Gave up?"

"That was as good an explanation as our medical department was able to
provide, Mr. Burris. There was some malfunction, but--we like to say
that he simply gave up. Living became too difficult for him."

"All right," Burris said after a pause. "This telepath of yours is dead,
and there aren't any more where he came from. Or if there are, you don't
know how to look for them. All right. But to get back to this machine of
yours: it couldn't detect the boy's ability?"

Dr. O'Connor shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. We've worked hard on
that problem at Westinghouse, Mr. Burris, but we haven't yet been able
to find a method of actually detecting telepaths."

"But you can detect--"

"That's right," Dr. O'Connor said. "We can detect the fact that a man's
mind is being read." He stopped, and his face became suddenly morose.
When he spoke again, he sounded guilty, as if he were making an
admission that pained him. "Of course, Mr. Burris, there's nothing we
can _do_ about a man's mind being read. Nothing whatever." He essayed a
grin that didn't look very healthy. "But at least," he said, "you know
you're being spied on."

Burris grimaced. There was a little silence while Dr. O'Connor stroked
the metal box meditatively, as if it were the head of his beloved.

At last, Burris said: "Dr. O'Connor, how sure can you be of all this?"

The look he received made all the previous conversation seem as warm and
friendly as a Christmas party by comparison. It was a look that froze
the air of the