"But—but you're an esper, aren't you?"
"Yes, of course. What has that to do with it?"
Biggs said triumphantly, "Well, then, now that you know which bins to concentrate on, can't you probe into them with your thoughts? Find out for yourself?" He added, "I—I always heard that really good espers could guess what was inside sealed boxes."
The little spy bridled.
"Not guess, Biggs!" he snapped. "Know! That is a good idea. Perhaps you're sincere. Well, it won't take long to find out."
Still holding the gun upon us rigidly, Thaxton went into his act. His body stiffened slightly. His pop-eyes seemed to bulge even more. His forehead creased with a sort of strain. His lips moved faintly.
I could hear the words as his unusual sense of perception bridged for him the distance between this turret and the after holds.
"Ah, the bins! Numbers 13, 14, 15. In the first I see boxes. Boxes filled with ammunition. Ah, yes! In the next I see—"
Then a thought, so dazzling that it almost short-circuited, blazed across my brain. I nudged Cap Hanson and nodded toward Thaxton. In that state of half-catalepsy, he was almost vulnerable. There was a fighting chance that we might be able to dash across the room, knock him down, yank that gun from his hand before he got us. Or, at least, both of us.