Someone walked by in the hall. Had the noise it made when it struck been heard? He let his mind reach out delicately.
"I pthi," grumbled the pin.
Now it was lisping—and it was louder. The blow must have damaged the speech crystals inside. Hurriedly he shut off his thoughts and the insignia responded with silence.
Primarily, it was a recognition device enabling people of the same talent, psimen, to identify each other. It served a purpose in America where there were so few, but in India, where mentalist activity was far greater, it was a handicap. It would be gabbling all the time.
Rains crumpled a sheet of paper around the little mechanism and tossed it gently into the chute. The disposer ground noisily and, as he half expected, the pin came hurtling back. He pried it out of the wall again. This time it was slightly bent.
"The disposer is for the convenience of guests. It's set to return all jewelry accidentally dropped into it."
Rains jumped and looked around wildly. He was certain there wasn't anyone in the room, and he hadn't observed a service screen. He still couldn't see either. But there was an eye staring at him from the wall.
"Shortages," explained the eye somberly, noting his bewilderment. "Our country doesn't yet produce all the material we need. Lacking full size tubes, the management of the hotel ordered smaller ones. They serve the purpose."
Only slightly larger than life, the eye blinked at him. It filled the entire screen. "If you must get rid of jewelry I suggest a pawnshop. It's more economical."
Rains glanced back with casual cageyness. How much had the other seen, or overheard? Probably nothing. He'd have noticed the eye. "Sorry. I was throwing an odd cuff link away."