, and he could
barely remember the answers. "Well," he said, "I guess that's about
it, then, Doctor. If you come across anything else, be sure and let me
know."

He leaned across the desk, extending a hand. "And thanks for your
time," he added.

Dr. O'Connor stood up and shook his hand. "No trouble, I assure you,"
he said. "And I'll certainly give you all the information I can."

Malone turned and walked out. Surprisingly, he discovered that his
feet and legs still worked. He had thought they'd turned to stone in
the office long before.

* * * * *

It was on the plane back to Washington that Malone got his first
inkling of an idea.

The only telepath that the Westinghouse boys had been able to turn up
was Charles O'Neill, the youthful imbecile.

All right, then. Suppose there were another like him. Imbeciles
weren't very difficult to locate. Most of them would be in
institutions, and the others would certainly be on record. It might be
possible to find someone, anyway, who could be handled and used as a
tool to find a telepathic spy.

And--happy thought!--maybe one of them would turn out to be a high-
grade imbecile, or even a moron.

Even if they only turned up another imbecile, he thought wearily, at
least Dr. O'Connor would have something to work with.

He reported back to Burris when he arrived in Washington, told him
about the interview with Dr. O'Connor, and explained what had come to
seem a rather feeble brainstorm.

"It doesn't seem too productive," Burris said, with a shade of
disappointment in his voice, "but we'll try it."

At that, it was a better verdict than Malone had tried for. Though, of
course, it meant extra work for him.

Orders went out to field agents all over the United States, and,
quietly but efficiently, the FBI went to work. Agents began to probe
and pry and poke their noses into the files and data sheets of every
mental institution in the fifty states--as far, at any rate, as they
were able.

And Kenneth J. Malone was in the lead.

There had been some talk of his staying in Washington to collate the
reports as they came in, but that had sounded even worse than having
to visit hospitals. "You don't need me to do a job like that," he'd
told Burris. "Let's face it, Chief: if we find a telepath the agent
who finds him will say so. If we don't, he'll say that, too. You could
get a chimpanzee to collate reports like that."

Burris looked at him s