ve!"

"Oh, no," I protested. "You don't mean Fred took a telepath to the
office?"

"I'm afraid so," George said, his tone so neutral that I couldn't take
it as personal criticism. "See you down there." His rugged features
faded from the screen as he cut the image.

I had my driver drop the skim-copter to the street when we got to
Pennsylvania Avenue within a block of the building, and he skimmed to
the outskirts of the crowd that was pressing around the entrance. There
were four or five hundred people there, milling around like a herd of
restless cattle. Tighter knots of humanity were pressed around the usual
four or five firebrands who were ranting and yelling for
blood--telepathic blood.

The guards around the entrance, apparently tipped by George Kelly,
started yelling, "Let him through!" They charged the mob to open a lane
for me. The crowd drew back sullenly. As I pressed toward the guards, I
could see the fear and panic on the faces around me.

Then a man recognized me. "God bless Gyp Tinker!" he bellowed in a voice
loud enough to conjure an echo out of a prairie. People started jumping
like so many animated pogo sticks, trying to get a sight of me over the
heads of others. By the time I reached the steps, the whole mob was
cheering and yelling, "Gyp!"

As George Kelly had asked, I paused on the steps and held up my hands
for a chance to speak. It's flattering when they give you silence. In
the space of two breaths it was like the inside of a morgue.

"Thanks, friends," I called out to them. "George Kelly and I have
already gotten the facts on the telepath who was captured here in
Washington last night. There is absolutely no cause for alarm. I hope
you'll go to your homes and offices promptly. Let's not give the
Russians any more satisfaction than we have to. And rest easy, friends.
We'll use the full summary powers conferred by Congress."

They gave me a terrific cheer. You'd think I had said something. At
least they were reminded of the summary powers granted the F.B.I. to
deal with telepaths, because of the gruesome danger they are to all of
us.

* * * * *

Anita Hadley, my secretary, was waiting for me in the outer office,
although it was a good hour before we were supposed to open.

"He's in there," she said, pointing to the door to my private office.

"The snake?" I asked, startled.

"Fred Plaice," she said. "And he's got the snake in there with him." Her
gray