I shook my head. "Not directly, George," I told him. "I want you to know two things. They'll explain why I'm quitting. My mother is a telepath. We arrested her early this morning, here in the District. I just sentenced her to transportation and detention in Oklahoma."
"Good heavens," he gasped. "Your own mother! Gyp, no wonder you're upset. Didn't you know she was a snake?"
My smile was a little tired. "Of course I knew," I told him. "I ran away from home at thirteen to get away from having her inside my head all the time. That's how I learned to close my mind—closing her out as much as I could. The power got stronger as I grew older."
"It's embarrassing," George said, turning away from me to look out the window. "To have you, of all people, Gyp, with telepathic heredity. Still, if no one knows, and since you've never had the slightest manifestation of psi powers yourself, there may be some way we can preserve your usefulness."
"Today, within the last half hour, George, my latent telepathic ability became manifest. George, I'm a snake."
His face froze. Then the batonlike cigar stopped its movement. He was like a statue. The pose broke, and he pressed a button.
"Send Carol Lundgren in," he ordered. I knew Carol, another short-range telepath that George used as his private lie-detector.
Carol was at my elbow in a moment or so. George wasted no words. "Carol, is there a telepath in this room?" he asked.
Carol grinned. "Yep," he said to the enforced silence. "There is." George Kelly's face fell. "His name is Carol Lundgren," the kid went on. "Next question?"
George looked as though he could have brained him. "All right, you Philadelphia lawyer," he grumbled. "Besides yourself, Carol, is there a telepath in this room?"