ohol or insanity?"

I thought for a moment. "Shouldn't be too hard to devise one. All you
need is something to set up interference vibrations on the same band as
the brain waves you're guarding."

"Sounds simple as hell. Could one of our men do it?"

"A telenosis technician at one of the hospitals could do it quicker," I
suggested.

"Without the sanction of C.I.D.? I doubt that."

"That's right," I agreed. "Okay. I'll run down to Technology and see
what we can work out. It may take two or three days--"

"I'll see that it gets top priority. I want you to get back to Palm
Beach as soon as you can."

As I was getting up to leave, Newell said, "Say, by the way, how's that
health cult in Palm Beach--Suns-Rays Incorporated? Anything on that?"

Suns-Rays Incorporated was one of the chief reasons I was taking my
vacation in Palm Beach, Fla., instead of in Sacramento, Calif., my home
town. Carson Newell had heard about this crackpot religious group that
was having a convention in Palm Beach, and he couldn't see why one of
his reporters shouldn't combine business and pleasure.

And maybe that tells you a little more of the sort of person he is.

"It's a complete fraud," I told him. "They worship a glorified sunlamp
and take regular treatments. Same time, they follow a strict diet and
system of exercises--have their own little spot on one of the beaches.
Guaranteed to cure what ails you."

"Who's the head?" Newell asked. "How many are there?"

"About twenty-five or thirty members, I'd say. That's not counting the
few curiosity-seekers, like me. And nobody in particular seems to be in
charge right now. I guess the big boss died, and they're holding this
confab to elect a new one. Supposed to have the elections today, come to
think of it. There's a great big scoop I missed."

"Any real news value in it?"

I shook my head. "Feature story, maybe, but it's pretty run-of-the-mill
stuff, even at that."

"Well, stay with it," Newell said. "Just in case nothing pops on this
telenosis deal. And get that defense mech as soon as possible."

"Do I get a real vacation after this is all over?" I asked, knowing what
the answer would be.

"Scram," Newell replied. "I'm a busy man. Get going!"

* * * * *

Late afternoon of the next day, my defense mechanism was ready. They had
taken a reading of my brain wave with a makeshift electroencaphalograph,
and then a couple of electronics boys had tinker