Griffin picked up the thick sponge-rubber mat that the instrument case had been sitting on, and the two men started off down the tube, walking silently on the sponge-rubber-soled shoes which would not scratch the glass underfoot.
"Any indication yet as to who our saboteur is?" Griffin asked.
"I'm not sure," MacHeath admitted. "I've picked up a couple of leads, but I don't know if they mean anything or not."
"I wonder if there is a saboteur," Griffin said musingly. "Maybe it's just a run of bad luck. It could happen, you know. A statistical run of—"
"You don't believe that, any more than I do," MacHeath said.
"No. But I find it even harder to believe that a materialistic philosophy like Communism could evolve any workable psionic discipline."
"So do I," agreed MacHeath.
"But it can't be physical sabotage," Griffin argued. "There's not a trace of it—anywhere. It has to be psionic."
"Right," said MacHeath, grinning as he saw what was coming next.