II

The rain was still coming down in wind-whipped torrents that slatted

along the avenue in drenching sheets. Huddled in the scant cover of the

apartment door was a girl of about eighteen. The raincoat she wore was

no protection; the wind drove the rain up under it. Womanlike, she was

struggling with the ruins of a fashionable little umbrella instead of

abandoning it for the tangled mess that it was.

She looked at me as I opened the door. She was without guile. She was

wet and miserable and determined to take whatever help was proffered,

and hope afterward that no unfair advantage would be taken of the

situation.

I showed her my I.D. card and she read: "Howard Schnell, Captain,

Special Detail." Her face changed from cautious immobility to a sort

of wet animation, and she added as if it were important under the

circumstances to be completely open, "I'm Florence Wood."

I took the ruined umbrella from her unresisting hand and stood it in

the foyer for the janitor to dispose of, and pointed out across the

rain-ponded sidewalk to the police car. It was almost high noon, but

the rain was so heavy that the identity of the car was by no means

conspicuous from the apartment door. Florence Wood nodded as she caught

sight of it.

I said, "Now, I'll make a run for it and open the door, and get in

first so that I'll be on the driver's side. As soon as I'm out of your

way, just dive in and don't worry about closing the door until you're

out of this rain. Catch?"

She nodded.

"I'd play Sir Galahad and give you my foul-weather gear to wear," I

said, "but you're already so wet that it wouldn't do more than keep the

water _in_."

She smiled at me understandingly.

Then she looked at me with curiosity because I was standing there

waiting instead of making my dash immediately. I thought of how my

Psi-man could have floated the loot out of an open window and kept the

rain from soaking the floor at the same time.

So, to make conversation, I said, "I'm waiting until my will power

builds up enough to overcome the forces of gravity, barometric

pressure, and the rest of whatever goes into the making of a howling

downpour like this. Considering that nature is dissipating energy equal

to a couple of hundred atom bombs per second, it takes a bit of time to

collect the necessary amount of mental power."

Florence Wood laughed. In mere instants she'd changed from

weather-drenched misery to a cheerful sort of discomfort no worse than

many a human has endured for hours at a football game. She said with

amusement, "Captain Schnell, why don't you start the car and drive it

over here? Seems to me it would take less power than stopping this

storm."

"The law says that it is considered unlawful to operate a motor vehicle

from any position other than the driver's seat," I replied.

* * * * *

When the slack in the storm I'd been anticipating finally arrived, I

took advantage of it to make my run across the sidewalk. Miss Wood

followed: her timing was perfect. Everything happened in a continuous

sequence without a stoppage at any point. The door opened and I went

in, landing hard and bouncing deliberately on the seat springs to hunch

myself over; Miss Wood landed and whirled in a flurry of wet skirt and

clammy raincoat, hauling one rain-booted ankle out of the way as the

door swung closed with a solid and satisfying _thunk_.

I started the car and let the engine idle to warm it up and dry it off.

Then I said, "Part of my duty to the citizen includes protection of his

health and comfort as well as protection from unlawful behavior. So,

where do you wish to be taken?"

She regarded me out of clear gray eyes. "Don't you know?" she asked

with a quirk at the corner of her mouth.

"Do I look like a mind reader?"

"Well, you did slow down the storm."

I laughed. "Miss Wood, King Canute would have been a hero instead of a

bum if he'd waited until high water before he told the tide to stop.

Now, what gave you any reason to suppose that I am endowed with special

talents?"

"Well," she said, fumbling through her handbag for the comb, which

naturally was at the bottom, "you did come along when I needed help,

and you did identify yourself when I so much wanted to know--"

"And since I also remembered that storms as violent as this always have

lulls, you put two and two together? Well, it doesn't require telepathy

to conclude that you are soaked to the skin, that you need and want

help, and that you'd prefer to know just whom you are driving off in a

car with. Any other ideas about my talents?"

"Well, I should think--"

"Address first, Miss Wood."

She gave me an address in a residential district that was the maximum

distance one could get from City Hall and still enjoy the privilege of

paying city taxes. I started the car and headed in that direction. Then

I said, "Now, Miss Wood, let's go on with your little fancy."

"Fancy?"

"You've been moonbeaming about a little courtroom drama where twelve

good telepaths and true are reading the mental testimony of a witness

who had located some vital bit of evidence by perception and brought it

to light by kinematic power."

"Well, it does seem that any truly gifted person would work for the

good of humanity."

"I doubt that being gifted with a sense of perception would

automatically endow a man with a sense of honor."

"But doesn't it seem just _awful_ to think of anything as miraculous as

telepathy being used for--for--"

She was trying to avoid the word "immoral" because she was of an age

and experience that felt sensitive about its use. Unfortunately the

only substitute was the word "sin."

I came to her rescue. "It's deplorable but true that nothing was ever

developed for the benefit of mankind without a few sharpshooters

quickly figuring out some way to make it pay them a dishonest buck."

"But it would be frightfully hard to bamboozle a telepathic policeman,

wouldn't it?" she asked hopefully.

* * * * *

I thought of my PSI-man, whose only mistake in the sealed room murder

of Gordon Andrews had been in being _so_ good that he'd actually

disclosed the existence of a criminal who employed Psi faculties.

"Wouldn't that depend upon whether the policeman or the criminal was

the more talented?" I parried. "But that supposes that the police force

would have a corps of Psi policemen."

"Wouldn't they?"

"Honey-chile," I said, "at the first thin hint that the Commissioner

was even interested in the possibility of hiring someone who knew

what the term 'parapsychic phenomena' really meant, there would be a

universal howl against 'Thought Police' so loud that it would shatter

the polar icecaps."

"But why?" she asked, bewildered.

"They'd start screaming about 'invasion of privacy,' and cite the Bill

of Rights, and that would be that."

"You mean that the law has laws against telepathy?"

"No, it doesn't say anything about telepathy," I admitted, knowing what

was to come next.

"Well, then?"

"Don't sound so superior, Miss Wood. At the first attempt, the law

would discover that it had a hell of a lot to say about telepathy and

perception, since they'd definitely affect the interpretation of the

Fourth and Fifth Amendments."

"I know the Fifth," she said, "but how about the Fourth?"

"Unreasonable and unwarranted search," I told her.

"But isn't a man guilty when he's guilty?"

"I wish it were as simple as that."

"But why isn't it?"

"Little Miss Wood, you are now asking me to solve an ethical question

that's been unanswered for more than ten thousand years." I smiled

wistfully. "I am not--repeat not--big enough to answer the following

question: 'Shall a killer in the confessional, who has been given

absolution by his God, subsequently be punished by his fellow man?'"

"But what has that to do with it?"

"Let's have _you_ answer one: 'Could you truly bare your secret soul

to God if you suspected that some prying human being was taking it all

down on a tape recorder?'"

"No, I suppose not."

"Then our 'Thought Police' would be standing as a human barrier between

any man and his God."

"I suppose so--but couldn't I _tell_?"

"Tell?"

"Tell whether someone was listening to my thoughts?"

That was another stumper. Does the sign wear out any faster if it's

read? Can the radio transmitter be measured to tell whether the

broadcast has any audience? Does the tree that falls in the forest

barren of animal life generate the same wave-motion as it would if all

the leaves were replaced by active eardrums? There are lots of analogs,

but are any of them valid?