rophones in this place," I said. "This Mary Hall thing
is getting hot--we'd better start taking precautions."

"Always," he said, running a hand over his balding head. His eyes saw
the bottle and asked me a question. I threw some of the Pinch Bottle
over ice and handed it to him, taking mine neat.

"Here's to crime," he said, sipping the liquor. "What happened?"

I poked a finger at my favorite easy-chair, which Passarelli took. I
stood in front of him, still holding my drink. "I got myself in a
jam."

"You're talking to the wrong man," he said coldly. "Get yourself a
lawyer--a _good_ Lawyer."

"You're in it with me, Passarelli."

"Never met you," he said, getting up. "Thanks for the drink." He
started for the door.

"That witch has the Stigma after all," I said to his back. That
stopped him. He came back and poked his angry face into mine.

"You had her tested?"

"Professor Lindstrom, at Columbia," I told him. "She is slick as a
whistle. Lindstrom fell for her yarn that it was sleight of hand--but
it was HC. I'd have sworn it didn't exist."

"Well," he said. "Well, well. All right, Maragon. What's the jam
you're in?"

"You suggested I should represent her, and I'm going to. But with the
Stigma? That's more than I bargained for. You know no reputable
attorney can afford to represent a Psi. Not if he wants any Normal
business. Too much feeling."

"Going to duck out on her?"

"Damned if I'll welch!" I said, more hotly than I had meant to. "You
sure don't seem very shaken up by the news."

"It's not any news to me," Passarelli said tightly. "You forget that
I've had first-hand experience with that little lady. She gave me the
business right in my courtroom. I'm no credulous egghead like
Lindstrom. I know the difference between sleight of hand and an
hallucination. She made me see just what she wanted me to see."

"Now you know why I think you're in the same jam, Judge," I said.
"You'll look great running for office, with your opposition telling
the public how a Psi foozled your vision. They'll stomp on the loud
pedal about how you let her get away with it and wangle a 'Not Guilty'
verdict when she was guilty as sin."

"Yes," he agreed. "It's a hot potato, all right."

"There's just one out," I insisted. "That girl would have made
restitution long ago if the Bank would have permitted it. And I've
been asking myself how come--why should the Bank get sniffy and not
want its money back?" That was the rig