t," he said. "Suspect apprehended
around two o'clock this morning and now in detention at the City Jail.
Native white female, age fifty-eight. Named Maude Tinker." He stopped.

I couldn't start. Maude Tinker! My given name is Joseph Tinker--although
they all call me Gyp. "What ..." I got out at last. "What did she
look...?"

He nodded, looking sick. "She's a gypsy, if that's what you mean, Gyp,"
he said to me. "I'm sorry. You _know_ I'm sorry."

"Has she made any statement, Fred?" I asked softly, staring at the
surface of my desk.

"She demanded to be taken at once to the Chief of the Division of
Psychic Investigation, Mr. Joseph Tinker," he said.

"Give any reason?"

He was quiet for a while, until I looked up. "She said," Fred told me,
"she said Gyp Tinker was her son."

I smiled wanly at him. "Obviously I can't let a statement like that go
unchallenged, not in my position as the man charged with extirpating the
danger of the snakes," I said.

"Obviously," Fred agreed. "Now that you know about it. If you had done
as I asked, Gyp ..."

"Get her over here, Fred," I said. "I'll see her at once. And send Anita
in as you leave."

"Sure, Gyp," he said, starting for the door.

"And thanks, Fred," I said. "But it never would have worked."

"Maybe not," he conceded from the door. "But the guy in the jam would
have been me, not you."

* * * * *

I turned my swivel around and stared out the window at the Mall and
didn't move until the light scent of Anita's perfume reminded me that I
had asked her to come in.

I swung around. "You watch out for that Fred Plaice," Anita said, almost
scoldingly.

"You mean, start watching my back, like I never did before? How did I
get this far?"

Her frown softened a little. "You don't miss many bets," she said. "Not
my Gypper. But this thing of Fred's holding back on the other telepath
he picked up last night has all the earmarks of a real slippery move."

"Did Fred tell you anything about it on the way out?"

"Just that he was bringing the telepath from the City Jail right back
with him, and that you wanted to see her at once."

"This snake is a woman, aged fifty-eight, Anita," I told her. "She gave
the name of Maude Tinker and says she's my mother," I added, without any
particular expression.

Anita laughed. "Oh, _no_!" she said. "What they won't think of next!"
But her face sobered in an instant, and she bent forward, almost
whisperi