brisk masculine voice
that overrode it:

"Westinghouse Laboratories," it said, "sixteen April nineteen-seventy.
Dr. Walker speaking. The voice you are about to hear belongs to
Charles O'Neill: chronological age fourteen years, three months;
mental age, approximately five years. Further data on this case will
be found in the file _O'Neill_."

There was a slight pause, filled with more tape hiss.

Then the voice began.

"... push the switch for record ... in the park last Wednesday ... and
perhaps a different set of ... poor kid never makes any sense in ...
trees and leaves all sunny with the ... electronic components of the
reducing stage might be ... not as predictable when others are around
but ... to go with Sally some night in the...."

It was a childish, alto voice, gabbling in a monotone. A phrase would
be spoken, the voice would hesitate for just an instant, and then
another, totally disconnected phrase would come. The enunciation and
pronunciation would vary from phrase to phrase, but the tone remained
essentially the same, drained of all emotional content.

"... in receiving psychocerebral impulses there isn't any ...
nonsense and nothing but nonsense all the ... tomorrow or maybe
Saturday with the girl ... tube might be replaceable only if . . .
something ought to be done for the . . . Saturday would be a good time
for ... work on the schematics tonight if...."

There was a click as the tape was turned off, and Dr. O'Connor looked
up.

"It doesn't make much sense," Malone said. "But the kid sure has a
hell of a vocabulary for an imbecile."

"Vocabulary?" Dr. O'Connor said softly.

"That's right," Malone said. "Where'd an imbecile get words like
'psychocerebral?' I don't think I know what that means, myself."

"Ah," Dr. O'Connor said. "But that's not _his_ vocabulary, you see.
What Charlie is doing is simply repeating the thoughts of those around
him. He jumps from mind to mind, simply repeating whatever he
receives." His face assumed the expression of a man remembering a bad
taste in his mouth. "That's how we found him out, Mr. Malone," he
said. "It's rather startling to look at a blithering idiot and have
him suddenly repeat the very thought that's in your mind."

Malone nodded unhappily. It didn't seem as if O'Connor's information
was going to be a lot of help as far as catching a telepath was
concerned. An imbecile, apparently, would give himself away if he were
a telepath. But nobody else se