ome. Mind?"

"Nope. But isn't that more than the police are used to doing?"

He eyed me amusedly. "If I were a mental," he said, "I could read your
mind and know that you were forming the notion of calling on Scarmann and
asking him what-for. But since I'm only a mind-blank esper, all I can do
is to fall back on experience and guesswork. Do I make myself clear?"

Lieutenant Williamson's guess-work and experience were us good as mental
sensitivity, but I didn't think it wise to admit that I had been
considering just exactly how to get to Scarmann. I was quickly and firmly
convoyed home in a jetcopter but once I saw them take off I walked out of
the apartment again.

I had more or less tacitly agreed not to go looking for Scarmann, but I
had not mentioned taking a dig at the apartment of the dear departed,
Peter Rambaugh.

Rambaugh's place was uptown and the front door was protected by an eight
tumbler cylinder job that would have taxed the best of esper lockpicks.
But there was a service entrance in back that was not locked and I took
it. The elevator was a self-service job, and Rambaugh's back door was
locked on a snaplatch that a playful kitten could have opened. I dug the
place for a few minutes and found it clean, so I went in and took a more
careful look.

The desk was not particularly interesting. Just papers and letters and
unpaid bills. The dresser in the bedroom was the same, excepting for the
bottom drawer. That was filled with a fine collection of needle-rays and
stunguns and one big force blaster that could blow a hole in a brick wall.
None of them had their serial numbers intact.

But behind a reproduction of a Gainsborough painting was a wall safe that
must have been built before Rhine Institute discovered the key to man's
latent abilities. Inside of this tin can was a collection of photographs
that must have brought Rambaugh a nice sum in the months when the murder
business went slack. I couldn't quite dig them clear because I didn't know
any of the people involved, and I didn't try too hard because there were
some letters and notes that might lead me into the answer to why Rambaugh
was hotburning for me.

I fiddled with the dial for about fifteen minutes, watching the tumblers
and the little wheels go around. Then it went click and I turned the
handle and opened the door. I was standing there with both hands deep in
Rambaugh's safe when I heard a noise behind me.

I whirled and slid asid