"Just remember, Schnell--the whole department's behind you," Chief
Weston assured me.
I continued to nod, but his assurance didn't reassure me in the least.
With about ninety-eight per cent of the general public still not
quite willing to accept rockets, missiles and space travel, I had a
fat chance of convincing anybody that a telepath had kept guard over
the slumbering mind of Gordon Andrews, while a perceptive solved the
combination to the wall safe, so that a kinematic could twirl the
dial; that the imminent awakening of Gordon Andrews had indeed been an
imminent physical threat to a delicate extra-sensory undertaking, and
that therefore he had been silenced by the kinematic, with a weapon
located by the perceptive, after warning from the telepath; after which
the crime had continued, with the loot being floated by a levitator
along a freeway explored by the perceptive and scouted by the telepath
and cleared of barriers by the kinematic who opened and debugged them
as he went along--and that the real topper for this whopper was that
this operation was not the integrated effort of a clever gang of
extra-sensory specialists, but rather the single-handed accomplishment
of one highly talented Psi-man!
A Psi-man ruthless enough to kill before he would permit his victim to
watch the turning dial, the floating loot, the opening portal, simply
because there stood a probability that one of the two billion persons
on Earth might suspect the phenomena as parapsychical activity, instead
of the hallucinatory ravings of a rich old eccentric who hated the
incumbent political party!
How best to keep a secret?
Let no one suspect that any secret exists!