d him since he first sensed it the day before. It was not
prominent at any time, nor continuous ... more as though only one or two
minds held the thought, and those not in the lounge all the time, but
wandering in and out.

He tried to analyze the feeling of those thoughts. They were
malevolent--that he had sensed from the beginning. And finally, later in
the afternoon, the person or persons thinking them evidently spent some
time near him in the lounge, for the feeling became much clearer to the
SS man.

Hanlon still kept his eyes closed. He made no effort at this time to try
to identify who was giving out those menacing sensations. That would
come later. At the moment he was more interested in trying to work out
just what those sinister impressions meant.

And gradually his mind was forced to the conclusion that it could mean
only one thing--a killing.

Hanlon was devoting almost all his mind to this problem when another
mental impression intruded, and grew stronger, more demanding of his
attention.

It was a feeling of sympathetic concern, yet diffident, apologetic. He
felt it growing stronger, seeming to be approaching him, to be directed
at him.

For the moment he left off worrying about the other matter, and watched
this new thought.

By the instant it was growing stronger, and closer. He knew that, some
way. He directed his attention toward what he believed was its source,
but idly, half angry at it for interrupting his more important thoughts.
It was in front of him ... and suddenly, like a bright, white beam of
light, his mind reached out and touched directly the mind holding that
thought.

Touched it ... it was instantly, unbelievably, _inside_ that mind!

He was able, actually, to _read_ the surface thoughts!

Clearly, distinctly, as though it were his own mind, Hanlon knew he was
one with a deck steward, who had noticed him sitting there all day and
the day before, with closed eyes and strained face. (His efforts at
concentration must have been too apparent--he'd have to learn to guard
that; to keep his face more impassive.)

Now the steward was coming to see if he was ill. And at that instant a
soft, apologetic voice spoke from in front of him--spoke words he had
already read in that mind.

"Beg pardon, Mr. Hanlon, sir, but is anything wrong?"

He opened his eyes lazily, and let a smile break out as he saw the
solicitous face of the white-coated attendant.

"Me? Not really. Just a little