"That," Burris said, "is a large sort of only. Malone, you've got to look at the facts sensibly. Square in the face."
Malone pictured a lot of facts going by with square faces. He didn't like the picture. "All right," he said.
"Things are going wrong in the Congressional computer-secretaries," Burris said. "So I assign you to the case. You come back to me with three spies, and the trouble stops. And what other information have you got?"
"Plenty," Malone said, and stopped for thought. There was a long pause.
"All this business about mysterious psionic faculties," Burris said, "comes direct from the testimony of that sweet little old twitch. Which she is. Dr. O'Connor, for instance, has told you in so many words that there's no such thing as this mysterious force. And if you don't want to take the word of the nation's foremost authority, there's this character from the Psychical Research Society—Carter, or whatever his name is. Carter told you he'd never heard of such a thing."
"But that doesn't mean there isn't such a thing," Malone said.
"Even your own star witness," Burris said, "even the Queen herself, told you it couldn't be done."
"Nevertheless—" Malone began. But he felt puzzled. There was no way, he decided, to finish a sentence that started with nevertheless. It was the wrong kind of word.
"What are you trying to do?" Burris said. "Beat your head against a stone wall?"
Malone realized that that was just what he felt like. Of course, Burris thought the stone wall was his psionic theory. Malone knew that the stone wall was Andrew J. Burris. But it didn't matter, he thought confusedly. Where there's a stone, there's a way.