ad his past; just
his present thoughts. That's not too bad, although I hoped I had hit the
jackpot at last."

After some further reflection the thought occurred, "Maybe I can do
better with someone else."

During the balance of the day he kept trying to read the minds of others
of his fellow passengers, but found the same results in each case. He
did, however, develop the technique of making a much quicker entrance
into a mind--could do that reading more swiftly, and yet know he was
correct.

"I get it now. I've got to approach it relaxed, not all tensed up like I
was at first," he finally realized.

But when it came to probing into and reading the whole mind, into its
past thoughts and knowledges, no. Just that ... no!

Pessimistically he began to feel he wasn't going to be able to do as
much with his "mind-reading" as he--and his superiors--had hoped.

Did this mean, he wondered disconsolately as he went to his stateroom,
that he was to be a failure in the Secret Service? Or, he brightened
momently, could he develop other methods of ferreting out information?
But that, he told himself honestly, was out. What did he know about
detective work? The SS already had the best detectives in the Universe.

This dark mood persisted while he went to bed and finally dropped off to
sleep. But when he awoke the next morning he felt cheerful again. He had
a lot--and he would get more.

He ate a good breakfast, then went back to his deck chair and there,
resolutely, he opened his mind once more to general impressions. He
would keep working at it, and more was bound to come. Look how far he'd
advanced already. A lot further than when he had started. And at that,
he probably--no, undoubtedly--could do more than any of the other
fellows on certain problems. As far as he knew--and Dad and Admiral
Rogers had talked as though he were the only one they knew about--no one
else could read even surface thoughts.

So he kept diligently at it. And very soon, so strongly he deduced the
mind must be very close to him, he again found those sinister
impressions that had bothered him so much.

This time he glanced about, in apparently casual curiosity, yet touched
mind after mind of those nearest him. Then hit pay dirt!

Why, it was that bluff, hearty-looking, red-headed man in the third
chair to his right. He didn't look vicious, that was certain, though
there was a grim set to his jaw. Yet his surface thoughts showed the man
to be har