y trace of any knowledge of what had
happened to Sir Lewis Huntley. If Sir Lewis had actually been
controlled, it hadn't been done by Robert Harris.

Houston wished he'd been able to probe Sir Lewis's mind; he'd have been
able to get a lot more information out of it than he had in his
possession now. But that would have been dangerous; if Sir Lewis was a
Controller himself, and had been acting a part, Houston would have given
himself away the instant he attempted to touch the baronet's mind. If,
on the other hand, Sir Lewis had actually been under the control of
another telepath, any probing into the mind of the puppet would have
betrayed Houston to the real Controller.

Harris knew nothing. He wasn't acquainted with any other Controllers,
and had kept his nose clean ever since he'd discovered his latent
powers. He knew that megalomaniac Controllers were either captured or
mobbed, and he had no wish to experience either.

The Normals had long since discovered that the only way to overcome a
Controller was by force of numbers. A Controller could only hold one
Normal mind at a time. That was why a mob could easily kill a single
Controller; that was why the Psychodeviant Police had evolved the "net"
system for arresting a telepath.

Harris, then, had been framed. Or could it be called a frame-up when
Harris was really guilty of the actual crime? Because the crime he had
really been accused of was not that of controlling Sir Lewis, but the
crime of being a telepath. That, and that alone, damned him in the eyes
of the Normals; the crime of taking over a mind for gain was incidental.
The stigma lies in what he _was_, not what he did.

Harris himself was in the bottom of the plane, in the baggage section
near the landing gear. After his trial, still drugged, he had been
secretly put aboard, to be taken to the Long Island Spaceport in New
York. It had had to be secret; no Normal would knowingly ride on an
aircraft which carried a Controller, even if he were drugged into total
unconsciousness.

With Harris were two PD Police guards. Their low conversation impinged
on Harris's ears, and was transmitted to Houston's mind.

Suddenly, one of them said: "Hey! He's moving!"

"Better give him another shot, Harry;" said the other, "when those guys
wake up, they drive you crazy."

Houston could almost feel the sting of the needle as it was inserted
into the arm of the helpless prisoner.

Slowly, Harris's thoughts, which had b