Malone grinned at her in what he hoped was a cheerful manner. "All right," he said to the psychiatrist, "let's go." He turned with the barest trace of regret, and Boyd followed him.
Leaving the little old lady and, unfortunately, the startling Miss
Wilson, behind, the procession filed back into Dr. Harman's office.
The doctor closed the door, and leaned against it for a second. He looked as though someone had suddenly revealed to him that the world was square. But when he spoke his voice was almost even.
"Sit down, gentlemen," he said, and indicated chairs. "I really—well, I don't know what to say. All this time, all these years, she's been reading my mind! My mind. She's been reading … looking right into my mind, or whatever it is."
"Whatever what is?" Malone asked, sincerely interested. He had dropped gratefully into a chair near Boyd's, across the desk from Dr. Harman.
"Whatever my mind is," Dr. Harmon said. "Reading it. Oh, my."
"Dr. Harman," Malone began, but the psychiatrist gave him a bright blank stare.
"Don't you understand?" he said. "She's a telepath."
"We—"
The phone on Dr. Harman's desk chimed gently. He glanced at it and said: "Excuse me. The phone." He picked up the receiver and said: "Hello?"