I knew that she was reading my mind like a psychologist all the time, and I let her know that I wanted her to. I let my mind merely ramble on with the usual pile of irrelevancies that the mind uses to fill in blank spaces. It came up with a couple of notions here and there but nothing definite. Miss Farrow followed me to my car without saying a word, and let me install her luggage in the trunk.
Then, for the first time, she spoke: "Steve Cornell, you're as healthy as I am."
"I admit it."
"Then what is this all about? You don't need a nurse!"
"I need a competent witness, Miss Farrow."
"For what?" She looked puzzled. "Suppose you stay right here and start explaining."
"You'll listen to the bitter end?"
"I've two hours before the next plane goes back. You'll have that time to convince me—or else. Okay?"
"That's a deal." I fumbled around for a beginning, and then I decided to start right at the beginning, whether it sounded cockeyed or not.
Giving information to a telepath is the easiest thing in the world. While I started at the beginning, I fumbled and finally ended up by going back and forth in a haphazard manner, but Miss Farrow managed to insert the trivia in the right chronological order so that when I finished, she nodded with interest.