we'd know about
it."

"You are then, ah, presenting yourself as an authority on
parapsychology, perhaps?" Rayson pursed his lips. "This is a great
accomplishment for one so young."

"I'm not an authority on anything." Don shook his head. "All I know is
that I'd find it out right away if anyone tried anything like that on
me. No one has--at least no Khlorisana has."

Rayson shook his head reprovingly. "Now, you say you have lived all
your life among these people? Perhaps, then, you have been under----"

* * * * *

"Just a minute!" Masterson broke in sharply. "What's this about Jack
Bordelle? He's your relief, isn't he, Michaels?"

"That's right." Don shrugged, then repeated his conversation with
Bordelle. He smiled wryly as he finished.

"I'll have to admit," he added, "I did walk over and spend a few
seconds checking the incinerator, at that. But ... oh, well." He waved
at the paper on Rayson's desk.

"And you didn't put that in your report?"

"No, sir. I didn't think there was any place for it there."

"Why not?"

"It wasn't material to the case in hand, sir. There was no evidence in
Jack's comments. He made no threats or offers. And as far as I could
tell, he was merely a disinterested person concerned in my welfare.
Even though he seemed to believe what he was saying, it's pure
hearsay."

"Hearsay!" Masterson snorted. "Pure invention." He leaned forward.

"Look," he said sharply, "we've been pretty patient with you. We've
given you the benefit of every doubt we could think of. And we're
getting to the time-wasting stage." He waved a hand sharply across in
front of his body.

"Now, I'd like to get some truth out of you. You've told us a little
truth already. I believe you when you say you weren't subjected to any
mental influence. I think the influence was very material indeed--in
nice, purple ink--and it seems to have been pretty effective. How much
was it?"

"How much?" Don frowned. "I wish you'd make yourself clear on that.
What are you trying to say?"

"Just what you think I said," snapped Masterson. "How much did that
youngster offer you to write up that incident the way you did? And have
you the cash in hand yet?"

Don looked at the man carefully, noting the details of his appearance.
Finally, he shook his head.

"Mr. Masterson," he said slowly, "up to now, I've always thought you
were a good instructor and a fine advisor. I've sat in your classes