He stopped it easily, six inches away.
Barker said, "No use seeking further. We may not know everything living organisms can do, but we can certainly tell what is beyond their power. The tests are conclusive."
Lorms, the behaviorist, nodded his head.
For just an instant Grant felt confused, helpless. His original arguments for psychosport were proved valid, but the killings became even more inexplicable—they were logically impossible! And, somehow, that made him the criminal.
That left him only one thing to do.
It was humiliating to accept such a solution to his personal problem. He thought of Bee Anthony and nearly turned back. Only since the tragedy had he realized how changed was their relationship—and how important she was to him. Would she scorn his action, think him a slave to public pressure? Probably, but Grant forced his steps onward.
In the lobby of the Page-Horton, Bee caught him by the arm. "Since when," she asked, "do you walk grimly past your friends?... No, Grant. Don't bother to think up a story. I know where you are going."
He wanted to chase her away—and to pull her close to him. But she glanced up and laughed. "You look so perplexed and silly. Professor Lorms called me, and of course I knew what you'd do."
"Do you think," said Grant, "that I should, Bee? Is it right?"