eer him aside.

"Beardsley, I just don't get it! This whole thing--are you quite sure--"

Beardsley blinked at him. "Sure of what, Pederson?"

"Of what you're doing! Damn it, man, don't tell me that was all waste
effort in there! Look--I know what this means, and I'm with you all the
way. If only you could beat ECAIAC, I'll give it all the publicity it
can bear! Who knows--"

Beardsley looked at him blankly, and Pederson gave a snort and a
gesture. "All right! I guess I'm wrong. For a while there I actually
thought you had it." Pederson surveyed him shrewdly. "Just the same,
that bit you exploded--about the person who killed Carmack didn't hate
him at all--you meant that, Beardsley!"

"That's right, I meant it."

"My choice is Jeff Arnold."

"Ah? Now why do you say that?"

"The way you built up to it, that's why. And you got your result! Sheila
Carmack's in love with Arnold, and she tried to cover up for him ...
sure, that's it! It's obvious! She thinks he's the killer, either thinks
or knows it--"

"Ah, yes. The obvious," Beardsley said with a grimace. "But you know, I
learned a long time ago that the _obvious_ can be a mighty tricky thing.
A dangerous thing. The forceps of the mind are greedy, and inclined to
crush a little in the seizing...."

Pederson pondered that. "And you," he said slowly, "are not seizing. I
take that to mean you still have an angle!"

Beardsley didn't answer at once. He glanced over at the equate-panel, at
the flux of dancing lights. Mandleco was bright-eyed and attentive,
chomping on the stub of a cigar, head thrust forward as he listened to
some detail of Arnold's. Sheila stood miserably near by, still in a
blind shock of disbelief; it was as if she had a need to be close to
Arnold, and he felt it, too, but they dared not look at each other.

* * * * *

"Now let's suppose," said Beardsley, "just suppose that Arnold thinks
_Sheila_ is the killer. Eh? Let us say they _suspect each other_.
Naturally, each has disclaimed any part of the deed. But the suspicion
is there, that tiny seed; and suspicion, particularly where love is
involved, has a habit of taking root and giving growth. Neither can be
_totally_ sure of the other's innocence--eh?" He paused, peering up at
Pederson. "And Arnold would want to protect her from any possible
consequence. Now what would be his way of doing that? The only way he
knew?"

He saw the idea take hold. Pederson was s