Mr. Wood said plaintively, "I don't want to write psychic books. I want
to write whodunits. But it would solve my problem, wouldn't it? My
series would consist of crimes that would be perfect, except for the
introduction of a Master of Psionics who tells the story in the first
person singular, and who solves the crime by parapsychic power."
"It might read better if you made your extra-sensory character the
criminal," I suggested.
He shook his head. "Wouldn't do at all. A criminal with extra-sensory
talent would always win out over the police. There have been only a
very few successful stories written in which the criminal got away."
"Maybe he wouldn't," I said.
"But how could he possibly fail?"
"He might get sloppy."
"Sloppy! Mind reading every anticipated move?"
"Or bored."
"Bored!"
"One often leads to the other," I told him with a smile. "Which is just
my policeman's way of thinking. From the policeman's point of view,
you're overlooking one rather important angle."
"Indeed? Well, you must tell me all about it."
* * * * *
"Okay," I said. "My point is that you should not view this as a single
incident in the life of an extra-sensory who has turned his talent to
crime, but rather take the overall view. For instance, we can write
the life history of our Psi-man in broad terms. As a schoolboy, he
was considered extraordinarily lucky at games of chance and skilled
in games of manual dexterity; he stood high in schoolwork and at the
same time managed to do it without working very hard. By the time he
enters high school, he realizes that his success is due to some sort of
'sensing' of when things will be right. This increases the efficiency
of his talent and he surges forward and would have become top-of-class
if he hadn't discovered that brilliance in recitation made up for a
lack of handed-in homework.
"In other words, nothing stands as a real challenge to him. His talents
surmount the obstacles that confront his fellow man. He could collect
corporations or be a labor leader, President or bum. Anything he wants
can be gotten without much fuss. Our Psi-man is primarily interested in
a statistical income sufficient to support him to the dictates of his
ambition. The trick is to achieve, say, twenty grand per annum, in such
a way that the manipulation is never discovered.
"At first our Psi-man plans meticulously. But soon this process seems
unnecessary because the poor ignorant homo saps don't even know they're
being conned. He has no hard surface against which to whet his nervous
edge, and so he begins to play games. He leaves clues, at first to
ascertain the true level of his fellow man's intelligence and ability.
Next he leaves conflicting clues to see which way the poor dopes will
jump. In a world that scoffs at parapsychic phenomena, he leaves clues
to support the theory that only an extra-sensory criminal could have
done the dastardly deed. Will one of the ignorant apes recognize the
truth? If he does, will he be in a high position, or will he be one of
the diligent ones who fetch coffee for the guy in the upper office? If
the work of a Psi-man is recognized, how will our bright policeman go
about it, and what will he do with the evidence after it's been shown
to him?
"And so, Mr. Wood, our Psi-man criminal has become bored because there
is no one in the world to challenge him, and he gets sloppy through his
growing contempt for the antlike activities of his fellow creatures.
At last he shows himself, deliberately taunting them to take action
against him. And that," I concluded, with a nod at him, "might be the
'perfect crime' in which your extra-sensory criminal finally exposes
himself."
"But why," Mrs. Wood asked in perplexity, "would such a talented person
turn to crime--or do you think that all extra-sensory people--"
I turned to smile at her. "Mrs. Wood, I was not speaking of
extra-sensory people as a statistical body. I was referring to one
particular character."
"I find him hard to believe in."
"On the contrary, my dear," said Mr. Wood, "Captain Schnell has drawn
an amazingly accurate thumbnail sketch of our Psi-man, and I daresay
that he could go on and on, filling in more minute details."
"Oh, yes, indeed," I said. "But I must leave it up to the professional
writer to tell what the brilliant policeman does when he recognizes the
work as that of an extra-sensory. For instance, does he become bold
enough to mention it to Chief Weston, or to Commissioner Stone? Or will
he confine his discussion to the company of a rain-soaked young woman
so circumstantially available and coincidentally willing to discuss
Psionics?"
"Captain Schnell," breathed Florence Wood, "what on Earth are you
talking about?"
"Your father," I said.
Mr. Wood stepped into the breach. "Captain Schnell was dramatizing for
your benefit, I'm sure. Because Captain Schnell knows very well how
impossible it is to surprise a telepath into revealing himself."
Florence Wood's expression changed to a mildly bothered smile. "It
certainly sounded as if he were accusing you of something."
"You mean--like--_mind reading_?" he asked with a big belly laugh that
closed the subject.