"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?"
There was no image on the screen.
But the voice was image enough. "This is Andrew J. Burris," it said. "Is Kenneth J. Malone there?"
"Mr. Malone?" the psychiatrist said. "I mean, Mr. Burris? Mr. Malone is here. Yes. Oh, my. Do you want to talk to him?"
"No, you idiot," the voice said. "I just want to know if he's all tucked in."
"Tucked in?" Dr. Harman gave the phone a sudden smile. "A joke," he said. "It is a joke, isn't it? The way things have been happening, you never know whether—"
"A joke," Burris' voice said. "That's right. Yes. Am I talking to one of the patients?"
Dr. Harman gulped, got mad, and thought better of it. At last he said, very gently: "I'm not at all sure," and handed the phone to Malone.